The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 257

Cassandra rushed between them, throwing her arms wide to shield Josh. Tears were streaming down her face.

"Josh tried to stop her! He begged her! But she refused to listen! She insisted on going!"

Her voice was trembling in the freezing wind. "Don't hit him! It's tearing him apart more than anyone!"

Garrison's fist froze in midair.

He was panting heavily, his chest heaving, his knuckles still locked tightly together. But the punch never landed.

He looked at Josh. He saw the blood dripping from his mouth, his lowered eyes, his violently trembling hands clenched so tight they were devoid of color.

*Heh.* Were those tightly clenched hands really any different from his own raised fist?

Slowly, Garrison lowered his arm.

He closed his eyes, taking several ragged breaths. When he opened them again, the blinding, irrational fury had burned away, leaving behind nothing but the cold ash of exhaustion and terror.

He didn't look at Josh. He didn't look at anyone.

He walked to the edge of the ice hole, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Wyatt, and stared down into the black water.

The bitter winds of The Polar Night howled off the ice sheet, whipping snow against their skin.

No one spoke. No one moved.

*Tick. Tock.*

Time seemed to warp around the edge of the frozen lake. Every passing second felt like an entire century.

But when he glanced back, it felt as if no time had passed at all—as if everything had simply been frozen in the dark.

There was only the wait.

Only the endless staring at the rope, at the black water, at the spot where Sloane had vanished.

A thin layer of ice had already begun to form over the surface, reflecting the harsh glare of the headlamps.

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