Lydia isn’t looking to be saved.
Bash isn’t looking to be her savior.
After a constant string of loss and trauma in her life, Lydia has mastered the art of quiet destruction. She’s losing herself one hit at a time.
After surviving what no one should have to, she’s drowning in the only thing that makes life bearable—whatever she can take to quiet her mind and keep her heart from remembering the pain.
Then there’s Bash.
A boy with his own ghosts. Grief he can’t shake, guilt he can’t confess, and new faith that’s still learning how to stand. Yet, he still carries light like it’s something he was born with, and no matter how far Lydia goes, he keeps showing up—through the walls she built, the sharp words meant to cut deep, and the darkness she thinks will swallow her whole, he holds on to her when she can't hold on for herself.
He doesn’t try to fix her.
He doesn’t run from her darkness.
He stays. Steady. Unmoving.
And in the quiet wreckage, Lydia starts to experience what love looks like when it doesn’t hurt…