Rebuilding Milo 소설 & 이야기

“I’ll be with you, every step. I love you, okay? You’ll be fine,” “Oh come on,” Elena chuckled lightly then winced against. “I’m not in the least bit scared. Okay? I’ve died before. Or did you forget I was reborn for revenge?” ……………………………………………………………………………………………. Twelve hours later. Elena and Marco Donatelli welcomed twin baby girls to the world. Both mother and children were perfectly healthy. THE END.

"Whatever happened… this is a second chance. I can feel it." He nodded, eyes glassy. “You better not. I just got you back.” The air between us felt charged. Heavy with something unspoken. I lifted my pinky. “Pinky promise?” He stared for a second. Then he laughed under his breath and hooked his pinky with mine. “Pinky promise.” The touch was small. Childish. And it shattered something in me. Or maybe… it stitched something back together. Who was Jazzlin? Why was I here?

Freedom. Encouraged by the stretch of the plastic whatever, or maybe just continuing to take out his anger, Milo started swinging more heavily at the wall, finally making a hole that was still covered by the plastic. Milo kept swinging, panting with the effort, making the hole larger until his arms could technically fit through. Then he scrambled for purchase on the slick surface, finding the ends of the bracelet and catching them on anything he could, twisting and tugging and pushing , there was the plastic kind of pop of a tear, and Milo fell forward into the wall, the hole just covering his arms, and still being a problem at that. But it was there.

A full-length mirror stood against the wall, I stopped in front of it. Selene Arden looked back at me, not Serena Vale, not the woman who stands in the kitchen, not the wife who waited at tables, not the woman who was never enough. Different structure, a face rebuilt in another country by tens of experienced surgeons. Four years of reconstruction, correction, and reinforcement. A voice coach once told me: “You must stop sounding like someone who apologizes before speaking.” A therapist in Switzerland told me: “You don’t miss him. You miss who you were trying to be for him.”

“Not to change the subject, but you think Sin is really attacking in forty-eight hours? You really believe that?” “Yeah. I do.” I screw up my face as I feel his bones pulling back together through his hand. “Yee Naaldlooshii didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt me. He wanted to help me as much as a cursed witch can, anyway.” “You said something about a seed?” Milo tests his arm out, bending and flexing it with a satisfied sigh. “So much better already.”

“We know how you feel and we know you are immensely hurt but… we just know that we are here for you.” Milo wipes his tears off with the back of his hands as he groans inwardly. He pulled his head up and stared at all of us who was surrounding him. His eyes and nose were red, his eyes were terribly swollen and even though he tries to hide it by smiling, we know he is massively in pain. “I fucked up lads.” He smiles sadly and it was the saddest smile I have seen from Milo . Rowan looked at him worriedly, “Milo maybe it’s best if we go back to the hotel and rest.”

His eyes locked on mine, then darted to Roman and Lira. “You brought them?” “Long story,” I said. “Let us in.” Inside, the place was just like I remembered—dusty, quiet, walls lined with maps and surveillance monitors. Milo hadn’t changed much. Same worn jeans, same chipped knuckles, same haunted stare. He didn’t hug me. Didn’t ask where I’d been. Just handed me a glass of whiskey and sat down like no time had passed at all. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he said.

He lunged too fast at me for me to move. His mouth clamped lightly on my shoulder. Not biting. Not really. But close enough. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. I felt the heat of his breath. The weight of his body. The animal in him. But then he jerked back, shaking, snarling as if at himself. A strange whine echoed from his throat, almost… apologetic. And then he leapt backward, turned toward the window, growling low. The human Milo returned in a flash of light and bone and collapsing limbs. He stumbled, shirtless, sweating, on the floor.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to run around, but for now, we want to make sure you’re completely healed.” “Besides, we can’t race home with the babies,” Milo says. “And then there’s Steele to think about.” “What about me?” Steele demands. “You’re slow,” Milo says amiably. “And you’ve never lived wild before, so you don’t know how to be quiet. You stomp through the woods like an elephant.” “Keep shit talking and I’m going to creep up on you when you’re sleeping and dump water over your head. You’ll never hear me coming.”