“You’re right,” he said, each word landing like a metal object on tile. “You’re right, Annie. But you don’t get it. I can’t stand knowing anyone else even looked at you, much less touched you. I can’t let someone walk into our house like it’s nothing—like you’re an option, like he could just… take you back. Because I love you too. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love."
I didn’t know what to do with that. The intensity was a compliment, a curse, and a confession in equal measure. Part of me wanted to rage back, to say I wasn’t a trophy, not a prize to be won or lost. Another part—the secret, greedy part—loved it. I wanted to hate that part of myself, but I didn’t.
I settled on, “It’s not your decision who gets to find me. It’s not up to you to get rid of the things that scare you. That’s not love, Sam. That’s just control.”
He let out a breath and the windows fogged up, both of us slick with sweat and leftover adrenaline. “I don’t want to own you,” he said. “I just can’t stand the thought that someone would come after you and not understand that you’re… that you’re?—”
“Not property,” I finished for him.
He flinched a little but nodded. “Not property,” he repeated, voice softer. “But not… at risk, either. You’re all I have worth a shit in this world. I don’t know how to do it any other way.” He flexed his hands, watched the black veins fade back under his skin. “I’m sorry. I am. I just—if anyone ever hurt you, Annie, I’d tear down the fucking sky to make it right.”
I stared at him, at the big stupid architecture of his body, the bruised lips from where I’d bitten him last night, the faint mark of blue from my nail against his jaw. An entire arsenal designed for violence, and all of it pointed at me like a shield. It didn’t excuse what he’d done, but it made sense of it.
I wanted to stay angry, but my voice came out tired, flat. “I need some air.” I opened the car door and just walked, heat punching through my sneakers as I crossed the crushed granite. The sky was cautious blue, the light too bright and unforgiving. I didn’t know where I was going, just that I needed to move, to let the edges of myself stop buzzing with adrenaline and settle into a shape again.
Samiel didn’t follow. When I looped back to the porch, he was sitting on the steps, elbows on knees, chin in his hands. He looked up only when I made it to the top step, concern mapped in the set of his jaw.
“Don’t say you’re sorry again,” I said, before he could start.
He didn’t. Just looked past me, at the wild yard, the splintered rocks, the horizon shimmer beyond.
“I could give you space,” he said, with the practiced neutrality of someone who’d read it in a book about People with Feelings.
“You wouldn’t like it,” I said, sitting down beside him.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t need it,” he answered, and that almost undid me.
I picked at a scab on my elbow. “Remember the isolation house? The one up near the ridge? The mayor said any time a match needed a reset, they sent them there for a couple days. No contact, no drama. Just enough time to hear yourself think.”
He blinked, frowning. “You want to go there?” The question was gentle, almost fragile.
I could have lied. I could have said no. But the truth was, it felt like I was living in a slow-motion landslide. I didn’t want to leave him, but I also didn’t want to keep breaking myself apartevery time I flinched at his temper or the thought of his hands on someone else’s throat.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think I need to.”
He was quiet for so long I thought he might just get up and drive away, which would have been its own kind of mercy. But then he said, “You can take the car. I’ll walk you up there.”
I half-laughed, half-choked. “You’re not going to lock me in the trunk and drag me back, are you?”
He shook his head, and I saw a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted to keep safe. That’s the whole problem.”
We drove in silence. The isolation house was farther than I remembered, perched above the main drag of the Valley like an outpost in some cold war. There was no road, just a winding dirt path and the crunch of tires over dust and bone. When we arrived, he killed the engine and sat for a minute, then turned to me.
“I want you back,” he said, eyes sharp and unblinking. “But not if coming home means you have to pretend every time I lose control.” He put a hand on my knee. Not possessive—just contact, trying to say goodbye without making it hurt more. “But if you decide to stay up here a while… I’ll check in from a distance. I’ll send the cat.”
I wanted to argue, to say it was a terrible idea, but I could see the way he was shouldering his own want, trying not to pressure me even with his presence. It was such a Samiel thing—brutal devotion, and the willingness to let me break his heart if it meant I’d come back stronger. I had to look away so I wouldn’t crack.
We went inside together, me trailing his shadow, and found the place exactly as advertised: a single room, a bed with clean sheets, a desk, a mini fridge stocked with every imaginable flavor of seltzer. The windows looked out over the whole Valley so that if I wanted, I could watch the world end and begin again ahundred times before lunch. I paced, not sure what to do with my hands.
He set my bag on the end of the bed, then hovered in the doorway like he didn't trust himself not to follow. "I'm leaving the car," he said. "And the keys. I’m leaving your phone and your charger. You want to ghost me, you can." His jaw flexed. “But if you want to come home, you come home."
I nodded, so sharp I felt it in my teeth.
He turned to go, then stopped, staring at the floor like he was conjuring the words from somewhere deep and volcanic. "You know," he said, "I'm technically supposed to be the one in isolation. The record was, this was always for demons, not—" He looked up, shrugged. "Not like it matters. If you want the house, stay in the house. I'll stay here. I'll check in with the cat."
He was giving me the out, handing me the keys to our whole fragile kingdom and saying, it’s yours,even if you don’t want me in it.I wanted to break his nose for it, but more than that, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and not let go. Instead, I watched him stand by the door, every muscle at war with every other muscle.
He said, "There’s food, and blankets, and I’ll bring up more if you want. You don’t have to text if you don’t want to. I just—I need you to know you’re not trapped."
