Balor lies facedown, face buried in the earth, nose and mouth filled with dirt. My hands are curled into fists. My pulse still not slowing. The rage not having left my blood, but it won’t, it never does, not where she’s concerned.
Penelope lifts her chin higher, peering up and over my head, unto the moon, my shadow falling over her as I drop down into a crouch. I lift my hand to her cheek, knuckles brushing away some of the dirt, and every part of me goes still.
There’s a tear in her lip; blood dried on her chin. She’s breathing too fast, her ribs rattling like something fragile is trying to flutter away from inside. Her big brown eyes aren’ton me, her clothes torn, her body shaking, matted hair strewn across her face, and I need her to look at me, to see me.
“Nellie,” I murmur, my voice strangely soft after all the violence. “Look at me.” And she does, uncertainty in her eyes. “You’re safe,” I tell her.
It’s a lie.
She knows it.
I know it.
The Obsidian knows it.
But she nods anyway.
And something in my chest cracks.
Her hand lifts, trembling, touching the back of mine against her cheek. Just her fingers on my skin, gentle as moonlight, and the whole world shifts. The anger, the fear, the months of absence, the nights spent wondering if she blamed me or missed me or cursed my name… all of it snaps into silence.
She’s here.
I am here.
And for a moment, nothing else matters.
“Come here,” I whisper.
She doesn’t hesitate. She pushes herself forward, collapsing against me, her forehead pressing to my collarbone, her arms curling weakly around my ribs. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in, holding her with a care that feels foreign to a man like me.
She’s shaking so hard I can feel it through my bones.
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” she breathes into my chest. Her voice is ragged, scraped raw. “I thought- I didn’t know if-”
My hand slides into her hair, cradle-soft.
“I was always coming back for you.”
Silence falls between us, heavy but warm, broken only by her breaths as they slowly even out. I can feel her heartbeat against me, too fast, too frantic, but it’s there. Alive. Fighting.
When she finally pulls away, there’s something new in her eyes.
“Billy,” she says quietly.
It’s strange, she looks absolutely ruined, her lip split, hair dripping with rain and sweat, arms bruised where he grabbed her, yet she speaks like someone delivering a holy verdict.
She changes position, pulling slightly back from me, kneeling, mud soaking into her shins, palms slipping in the dirt as she steadies herself. Her breath comes in a slow, deep pull, preparing herself, bracing herself.
“I have to tell you something,” she whispers.
Immediately, something cold coils inside me. My hand reaches out instinctively, cupping the side of her neck, thumb brushing her jaw.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Who touched you? Who else-”
“It’s not that,” she interrupts gently. Her fingers curl around my wrist. “It’s… something else.”
Her eyes drop, lashes trembling.
