My chest aches.
I step out into the living room, the floor cool under my bare feet.
His arm tenses before I make a sound.
Of course it does.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” he asks, voice low and rough.
God, that voice.
I lean against the doorframe. “Shouldn’t you?”
He moves his arm away from his eyes and looks at me.
For a second, his gaze skims over me—messy hair, oversized t-shirt, sleep shorts—and something dark flickers in his expression before he reins it in.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
“Nope.” I walk closer, trying not to feel self-conscious under his stare. I’ve never been self-conscious around him before. I’ve been annoying. Loud. Ridiculous. But never… shy.
That’s new.
I blame the bounty.
And the murder cabin.
And the fact that he told me—very calmly—that he’d burn the world before he let anyone hurt me.
I stop a few feet from the couch, arms crossed. “Every time I close my eyes, my brain starts a new episode ofWorst Case Scenario Theater.”
He huffs a small, humorless laugh. “Welcome to my life.”
“Any good episodes?”
“Mostly reruns.”
“Fun.”
He studies me for a beat. “I know you’re scared, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you?”
I want to say I’m not. It’s on the tip of my tongue. The old Lark answer. The one with teeth.
But he’s looking at me like he actually wants the truth.
So I give it to him.
“Just a little scared,” I admit. “I’m not scared of… them. Bad guys. Guns. Bounties. I mean, Iam, but that’s not what’s keeping me up.”
His brows draw together. “Then what is?”
I swallow. “You,” I say softly.
His whole body goes still. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I tug at the hem of my tank top. “You, promising me things you can’t possibly control. You, being all… protector-y. You, being here, and on the run with me, and very much not a ghost on the periphery of my life anymore.”
He stares at me like he’s not sure whether to argue or apologize.
