I eventually get up from the couch, careful not to wake Mellow who's sleeping. Noah gives me a small nod as I leave. No more words, just quiet understanding hanging in the air like mist.
The guest room is dim, lit only by the hallway light bleeding under the door. I pause just inside the threshold.
So this used to be his brother's room.
It doesn't feel haunted. Just still. Soft. There's a faint citrus scent in the air, maybe from a candle or an old bottle of cologne. The bookshelf is small but tidy—some sci-fi, a few comics tucked sideways like someone hid them for later. On the desk, the lamp is unplugged but clean. The drawers are all closed. A pair of dusty headphones hangs from the corner of the chair.
I wonder what he looked like. Did he have Noah's eyes? That same good slanted eyes?
I lie down on the queen-sized bed, tugging the blankets up to my chin. I stare at the ceiling and try not to think. But my thoughts crowd in anyway.
