KNIGHT
Waking up with Lark wrapped around me is the kind of thing my brain files underthis cannot possibly be real.
She’s half on top of me, one leg thrown over my hip, face tucked into my chest, hair a dark cloud across my throat. My arm is numb, but it’s the good kind of numb.
For a minute, I just lie there and let myself have it.
No Helios. No bounties. No dark web. Just this girl, soft and warm and breathing against me, fingers curled in my hair like she latched on sometime in the night and never let go.
My chest does something complicated.
Careful not to wake her, I slide my free hand up her back, tracing idle patterns between her shoulder blades. She makes a small noise and snuggles closer, which does absolutely nothing for my blood pressure.
“Knight,” she mumbles into my shirt, voice sleep-rough. “Stop overthinking.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “I’m not.”
“Liar,” she mutters, eyes still closed. “Your chest sounds like a tech support line.”
“That’s just my heart existing.”
“Tell it to log off,” she grumbles.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. We’re coming up on the morning window we told Arrow we’d be online.
Reality seeps back in.
So does the familiar gnaw of worry.
“I have to talk to Arrow,” I say softly, smoothing her hair back. “And Dean if he’s with him. See what they dug up.”
Her lashes flutter, eyes blinking open. For a second she’s just… soft. Sleepy. Unarmored.
Then it all comes back—the cabin, the bounty, last night.
A blush creeps into her cheeks.
“Okay,” she says, voice small but steady. “I’ll… make coffee. And try not to imagine worst-case scenarios while you’re on a call with people who have ex-military in their job titles.”
“There’ll be at least one smartass on the line to balance them,” I say. “Gage’s probably awake by now.”
She manages a crooked smile. “Better. Go. I’ll be here. Not panicking. Much.”
I press a quick kiss to her forehead, then another to her mouth because I can, and untangle myself, ignoring my protesting arm.She makes a noise of displeasure at the loss of warmth but lets me go, rolling onto her back, one arm flung over her eyes.
I pull on sweats and a fresh t-shirt, then grab the little modem box and the tablet from the table. The cabin feels smaller now that it’s holding something I care about this much.
We cleared a corner of the bedroom yesterday for “comms”—which is really just a crate with the router on it and a chair. I plug the box in, angle the antenna, and wait for the tiny indicator light to flicker to life.
Connection.
I boot the encrypted chat.
Arrow’s already pinged, right on schedule.
ARROW: you alive?
I type back.
