Chapter 44 – Beneath the Silence
The keys clicked like distant thunder. Bea's fingers danced across the keyboard, shaping a new truth—one born not from honesty, but from necessity. Nova sat still beside her, every breath weighted, every second stretched taut like a violin string ready to snap.
They had buried the letter. Hidden it where no one would think to look. But hiding the truth didn't mean killing it. It throbbed in Nova's chest like a heartbeat that didn't belong to her.
What if it comes back?
What if someone already knows?
The questions whispered louder than the silence between them.
"Nova," Bea murmured, her eyes not leaving the screen, "we're going to get through this. But you have to keep it together. If you fall apart, it all unravels."
Nova swallowed hard, nodding. "I'm trying."
Bea stopped typing. "No. You're thinking about trying. You either are, or you aren't."
The words stung. Not because they were cruel—Bea never had to be cruel. Her precision was sharper than any blade. But Nova also knew she wasn't wrong.
"I'll hold it together," Nova whispered. "I promise."
But promises, like paper, burned easily.
---
Two days passed. Then three.
Their manuscript grew. Chapter after chapter poured out of them, each one brilliant, sharp, alive. Their editor sent a midnight message:
"You've never written like this before. Whatever you're doing—don't stop."
Nova read that line over and over, bile churning. If only she knew what it cost.
---
On the fourth day, Bea found a note slipped beneath the door.
It was written on rough parchment, in deep red ink.
> "Truth doesn't stay buried. It bleeds through the silence."
No name. No return address. Just that one sentence.
Bea showed it to Nova without a word.
Nova went pale. "You think it's from—?"
"I don't think," Bea said, tearing the paper in half. "I plan."
She burned the note in their kitchen sink, the flames licking the words into ash before their meanings could settle.
But that night, neither of them slept.
---
They started hearing whispers.
At a writing conference, someone mentioned "the fire."
A rival author, smiling too easily, said, "Amazing how some stories feel a little too real, don't you think?"
Bea deflected. She always did. But Nova could feel the pressure building, a heat behind her eyes she couldn't blink away.
Then, during a live Q&A session, it happened.
A reader stood up, book in hand, and asked, "Is Flames in the Night based on real events? Because this part here—" she held up a page, trembling "—felt like someone actually lived it."
Nova froze.
Bea smiled smoothly and leaned toward the mic. "All great fiction feels real. That's our job."
Laughter followed. The reader sat down. The tension in the room dissolved.
But afterward, Nova ran to the bathroom and threw up.
---
In the quiet hours past midnight, Nova sat on the floor, legs pulled to her chest, watching Bea rework another chapter. The glow from the laptop painted her face in soft golds and shadows.
"I don't know how you're so calm," Nova said quietly.
"I'm not," Bea replied. "I just know how to perform calm until it becomes real."
Nova looked at her—really looked. The set of her jaw. The tremble in her hands. The dark circles beneath her eyes.
They were both coming undone. Just… in different ways.
"I keep thinking about the letter," Nova said.
Bea didn't stop typing. "Don't."
"But what if—"
"Nova." Bea turned to her, eyes blazing. "We either survive this, or we don't. But we do not fall apart in the middle."
Nova bit her lip. Nodded. "Okay."
"Good," Bea whispered. "Because we're not done yet. Chapter 45—it has to hit harder than anything we've written. The world needs to believe we're unstoppable."
Nova whispered the only words that still gave her strength.
"We rise. We write. We win."
Bea finally smiled.
"Yes, my love. Even if we burn