For a heartbeat I stayed still, keeping my eyes half-closed, not ready to signal that I was awake.I needed a moment to rebuild the walls inside my head, to remember what had happened, where I was, who was in the room with me.The fog of sleep made everything feel muted and distant, like I’d woken in someone else’s body.
Then he murmured, “You’re awake.”
Not a question.Not curiosity.A simple recognition, like he’d been tracking every shift in my breathing while I slept.
I lifted my head a little, enough to make eye contact.His expression didn’t change, but something happened behind the mask—subtle, a flicker I wouldn’t have noticed a few hours ago.Something that looked like relief before he buried it.
“How long?”My voice was rough from disuse and sleep.
“A few hours.”He didn’t elaborate.Didn’t apologize for watching me, or justify it.Just answered the question.
I shifted my wrists, testing the ropes again now that my body had recovered a little strength.The loosened knots held, exactly the way he intended—more comfortable, still secure.I tried not to wince when the movement sent tingling pain through my fingers as blood flow returned.
He noticed anyway.
“You needed the rest,” he said.
The pity-adjacent tone—softened, human—sparked anger before anything else could take hold.“I needed my family,” I snapped.“I needed not to be tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere with the man who killed them.”
The words landed like blows even though I hadn’t moved.His jaw flexed once.Not from rage.From impact.
Good.
He deserved to hurt.
“You’re safer here than anywhere else right now.”The statement came out low, taut.He hated the words even as he believed them.
“Safer from who?”I shot back.“You?”
His eyes dropped for a second—not long enough to be weakness, just long enough to be honest.“From everyone else.”
I wanted to demand details.Names.Reasons.I wanted to scream until the walls shook with the weight of it.But questions curled in my throat and died there.Something in his voice warned that the answers were only going to break me further, not protect me.
The silence returned, heavy enough to fill the whole cabin.Snow battered the shutters like fists.Thunder rolled over the mountains.The fire cracked and settled.
“You could have killed me while I slept.”I didn’t mean for it to come out as quietly as it did.
He didn’t look away from the flames.“Yes.”
“But you didn’t.”
His fingers interlaced more tightly, knuckles whitening.“I know.”
There it was again—that quiet fracture in him.The same one I’d glimpsed when he wrapped the blanket around me.The same one that made him loosen my restraints instead of tightening them.
It didn’t excuse anything.It would never erase what he’d done.But I cataloged it with everything else.If he had been emotionless, there would be no path to survival.But a man with cracks could be manipulated or reasoned with or shaken.
He stood suddenly, as if sitting still became too much.The fire threw shifting shadows across his face as he paced once, then stopped near the shuttered window.His hand rested against the cold wood—not pushing, not opening, just grounding himself.
“You should sleep more,” he said without turning around.“You’re still recovering.”
I almost laughed.“And you’re worried about my health now.”
“No.”The word came too quickly to be fully true.“I’m worried about what happens if you push yourself past the point of functioning.”
“To me,” I said, “or to you?”
He didn’t answer.
