Sally.
The image of her falling, blood blooming across her chest, floods my mind.
I make a sound that is somewhere between a soft gasp and a whimper. It happens before I can stop it.
Grim stops and turns. “Are you okay?” His voice is gentle.
I nod.
“You don’t look okay.”
A tear rolls down my cheek. I can’t help it.
“I was just thinking about…” I can’t finish the sentence. “I’m trying hard not to cry. I keep getting flashbacks. I keep seeing her fall, blood all over her…”
In two strides, Grim is in front of me, pulling me into his arms.
I collapse against his chest. He’s warm and solid and safe, and for a few precious moments, I let myself fall apart. His arms tighten around me, one hand rubbing slow circles on my back.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I hug him back, clinging to him until the images start to fade. Until the worst of the grief passes and I can breathe again.
“Feeling better?” he asks softly.
I nod against his chest, not quite ready to let go yet.
He doesn’t push. Just holds me until I’m ready.
Finally, I pull back and wipe my eyes. “Sorry. I just—”
“Don’t apologize.” His eyes are serious, intense. “It’s going to take time, Wren. You might even need therapy to get through it.I’m here for you, okay?” He looks me directly in the eye. “I mean that.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Thanks.”
“Any time you’re feeling anxious, afraid, upset…I’m here.”
“Okay…thanks. I appreciate it.”
“We’ll get through this,” he says with conviction.
“I hope so.”
“Wewillget through this.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I swear.”
I wipe my eyes again and nod. If anyone can make that happen, it’s him. Somehow, despite everything, despite the danger we’re in, despite losing Sally, despite being hunted like criminals, I believe him.
Grim makes me feel safe.
22
Grim
I stir the pot of rice and beans; the smell of cumin and garlic fills the small kitchen. It’s not much, but it’s already looking pretty good to me. I raided the pantry and managed to find an array of goods, including some canned black beans, white rice, a can of diced tomatoes, and some corn. There was a selection of dried spices to choose from.
Wren is at the stove, frying up slices of Spam in a pan. The canned meat sizzles and pops, filling the air with a salty,savory aroma that makes my stomach growl. She flips the slices carefully with a spatula, getting them crispy on both sides.
“I never thought of doing that with Spam,” I tell her. “I’ve only ever had it straight from the can. That smells amazing.”
