CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

**OLIVER**
Rebuilding bridges was harder than I thought it would be.
Gabriel and I weren’t where we used to be, not yet, but we were better than we’d been. The silence that had once defined our interactions had loosened its grip, replaced by tentative conversations and hesitant laughter. It was rocky, yes, but it was progress.
I wasn’t naive. I knew it would take time to heal the wounds we’d inflicted on each other. Time. Patience. Maybe even forgiveness, though I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. But for now, I was content with the small moments we were carving out for ourselves—the glimpses of what used to be, mingled with the cautious hope of what could be.
We spent more time together now. Gabriel had taken to following me around, whether I was at the river or the farm. At first, I thought it was his way of keeping an eye on me, of ensuring I didn’t retreat back into my shell. He could be overbearing like that, watching me as if he could keep me from falling apart simply by standing close. But as the days passed, I realized it wasn’t surveillance; it was his way of showing he cared.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared for me like this. Maybe that was part of the problem. I’d grown so used to being alone in my struggles that the sudden shift felt like whiplash. There was a comfort in solitude—an illusion of control, of not needing anyone, of keeping my heart safe by locking it away. I could handle the weight of the world on my own, or so I’d convinced myself.
But Gabriel’s presence, his quiet insistence, was unsettling. It made me question everything I’d known about myself. Every time he came around, offering a hand, a word, a smile, it chipped away at the walls I’d built so carefully over the years. The worst part was, it felt good. Too good. And that terrified me.
He’d show up at the riverbank as I worked, leaning against a nearby tree with a faint smile playing on his lips. His presence wasn’t intrusive—just a quiet reminder that he was there. Sometimes, he’d help me with the farm work, rolling up his sleeves and digging into the soil with an enthusiasm that didn’t quite match his skill. I couldn’t help but laugh at the way he struggled to keep the rows straight, his hands clumsy as he tried to mimic my movements.
“You’re terrible at this,” I teased one afternoon, wiping the sweat from my brow.
“Maybe,” he shot back, grinning, “but I make up for it with charm.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at my lips. It was moments like these—when the air was light and easy—that made me feel like we might actually make it. Like this fragile thing between us might hold.
The work wasn’t glamorous, but it was something. We didn’t need to speak constantly. Sometimes, silence said more than words ever could. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were walking on a tightrope. One wrong step, one wrong word, and everything could crumble again.
There were stolen kisses, too. They were fleeting, almost shy, as if we were still testing the waters of our fragile reconciliation. A quick brush of lips as he passed me on the way to the barn. A lingering touch as we stood by the river, the sound of the water masking the quiet murmurs of affection.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.
I had to remind myself not to expect too much. Every smile, every word, every touch, was part of a process. We weren’t where we used to be—not yet. But for once, I wasn’t terrified of the distance between us. For once, I could almost imagine us bridging the gap.
Still, despite the progress, there was always that undercurrent of tension. The silence, the hurt, the things unsaid—they were still there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for a misstep. The wounds weren’t fully healed, and sometimes, the weight of our history threatened to pull us under.
But we kept trying, and that had to count for something, right?
It was one of those rare, quiet evenings when the world seemed to pause. The air outside had cooled, and the shadows stretched long across the yard. The house felt peaceful, almost too peaceful, like the calm before a storm. Gabriel had gone to bed early, leaving me alone in the living room with nothing but the hum of the night to keep me company. I let my thoughts drift, the memories of the past weeks mingling with the faint hope I dared to hold onto.
I wasn’t sure how much longer this delicate balance could last. My own heart was torn in two—half of me wanted to trust in the possibility of what we were building, and the other half wanted to run. Run as far and as fast as I could from the pain, from the goddess, from everything. But I’d learned over the years that running didn’t solve anything.
So I stayed. For now.
Eventually, the pull of sleep became too strong to resist. My body ached from the day’s work, and my mind felt heavy with the weight of all the things left unsaid. I stretched out on the couch, letting my eyes drift closed as the quiet rhythm of the house lulled me into slumber.
The dream was vivid, more so than any I’d had in a long time.
I stood by the river, the water shimmering under the light of a full moon. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and the soft murmur of the current filled my ears. The world felt suspended in time, as if I was the only one who existed. The moonlight danced across the surface of the water, casting an ethereal glow on everything it touched.
And then she appeared.
The goddess.
Her presence was undeniable, commanding. She stood on the opposite bank, her form cloaked in flowing robes that seemed to merge with the water itself. Her hair cascaded like liquid silver, and her eyes glowed with an ethereal light that pierced through the darkness. The river whispered in recognition of her power, the current swelling with a life of its own.
“Oliver,” she said, her voice a melody that sent a shiver down my spine.
I stiffened, my fists clenching at my sides. “What do you want?”
She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “It’s been a while since we spoke like this.”
“I wonder why,” I shot back, my voice laced with bitterness. “Maybe it’s because every time you show up, you ruin my life.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I know,” I snapped, my voice rising with frustration. “Every misfortune I’ve faced, every heartbreak, every loss—it all comes back to you. You destroyed my life, goddess. You used me. You took everything from me and left me with nothing.”
The words poured out of me, years of frustration and resentment bubbling to the surface. I couldn’t stop them, didn’t want to stop them. She had torn my life apart piece by piece, and I needed her to understand that.
“You think this is a coincidence?” I continued, my voice rising with anger. “Gabriel leaving, Carrie, the mess with the packs, everything—it’s all because of you. You’ve done nothing but tear my life apart. You’ve destroyed me.”
Her gaze remained steady, unfazed by my outburst. When I finally fell silent, my chest heaving with the effort of my anger, she let out a soft, almost amused laugh.
“You’re entitled to your feelings, Oliver,” she said calmly. “But they do not affect reality.”
I stared at her, my hands shaking with the force of my rage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that your pain, your anger, your accusations—they’re all yours to bear. They don’t change what has been or what will be.”
Her words felt like a slap, cutting through the haze of my emotions with brutal clarity.
“But,” she continued, her tone softening, “I will say this: I’m proud of you.”
I blinked, the unexpectedness of her statement momentarily silencing me. “Proud? Proud of what?”
“For finally complying with my wishes,” she said simply.
My stomach twisted, the weight of her words settling over me like a heavy fog. What had I done to earn her approval?
“And because you were obedient,” she added, her lips curving into a faint smile, “I have a gift for you.”
Before I could respond, she raised her hand, her fingers closing around something I couldn’t quite see. When she opened her palm, a necklace lay there, glowing faintly in the moonlight.
It was exquisite—a string of delicate blue pearls, their surface shimmering like the river itself. At the center hung a sapphire pendant, its deep, rich hue captivating in its intensity. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it, the pull of its beauty undeniable.
She stepped forward, the necklace dangling from her fingers as she held it out to me
“A token of my favor,” she said, her voice a gentle command. “Take it.”
I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to refuse. But something in her gaze held me captive, and before I knew it, my hand was reaching out to accept the gift. It felt cool against my skin, its weight unfamiliar yet strangely comforting.
“Good job, Oliver,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of satisfaction. “You’ve done well.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What is this for?”
She tilted her head, her smile fading into something more serious. “Prepare yourself for the task ahead.”
My heart sank. “What task?”
Her lips parted, but before she could answer, the world around me began to blur. The river, the trees, her luminous form—all of it dissolved into a haze of light and shadow.
I woke with a start, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The room was dark, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. For a moment, I thought it had all been a dream, a figment of my restless mind.
But then I felt it.
My fingers closed around the necklace, its cool surface pressing against my palm.
It was real.
The goddess’s words echoed in my mind, her warning chilling me to the core.
“Prepare yourself.”
For what, I didn’t know. But as I stared at the sapphire pendant in my hand, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever lay ahead would change everything.