“You don’t have to do this,” I mumble. “Play human weighted blanket. It’s not in the job description.”
“Maybe I negotiated a new clause,” he says.
I huff out a half laugh. “Highly doubt Kael would sign off on that.”
He goes quiet for a beat. “You dreaming about apologizing to Henry?” he says. “That’s not something I’m leaving you alone with if I can help it.”
The knot in my chest tightens, then loosens in a sharp, painful rush. I turn my face into his shirt so he doesn’t see whatever expression I’m making.
“Hey,” he says again, softer. His hand slides up into my hair, fingers combing through the tangled mess at the nape of my neck. The sensation sends a shiver straight down my spine, pleasure braided with comfort.
“You’re okay,” he says. “I’ve got you. He’s not here.”
“He was,” I whisper, before I can swallow it. “At the farm. He walked where Saoirse plays. He opened the barn door. He—”
“I know,” Bran says. His voice is tight. “And he’s going to pay for that. For Miguel. For all of it. But not tonight. Tonight he’s not here. You are. With me.”
The way he sayswith medoes something to the air. Makes it thicker. Makes every inch of contact between us feel like a live wire.
My fingers flex against his side, sliding under the hem of his shirt to bare skin. Heat jumps under my palm, muscles tightening.
He draws in a breath.
I freeze. “Sorry. Sorry. That was—”
“It’s okay,” he says, but his voice has changed. Rougher. Darker. “You can touch me, Tally. I’m not going to break.”
“Not the one I’m worried about,” I mutter.
Silence stretches, full of unsaid things. His hand is still in my hair, thumb stroking the sensitive skin at my nape. Each pass sends little sparks racing down into my chest, lower.
“Do you ever…” The words come out before I can snatch them back. I stare at the buttons on his shirt like they’re going to save me. “Do you ever feel like you’re only alive because you’re useful?”
He’s quiet for a second. Two. Three.
“All the time,” he says finally.
I blink, surprised into meeting his eyes.
He’s looking down at me, expression unguarded in a way I’m not sure I’ve seen before. “Kael pulled me out of a very specific kind of fire,” he says. “He keeps me around because I’m good at certain things. The day I stop being good at them…” He lifts one shoulder. “I don’t spend a lot of time imagining that day. So, yeah. I get it.”
The admission punches straight through the armor I keep around my softer parts.
“I hate that,” I say quietly. “For you. For me. That we both understand that equation too well.”
His fingers flex in my hair. “You’re more than what you do,” he says. “More than your brain. More than the cases you crack.”
“You’re more than your body count,” I shoot back. “You know that, right?”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
“I am,” I say. “And I’m usually right.”
That earns me the ghost of a smile. “Arrogant.”
“Accurate,” I say.
We’re too close. I can feel his breath on my forehead, each exhale a stroke of warmth. The nightmare haze has burned off, replaced by something sharper, hungrier.
