She flinches like the word hurts.Free.I don’t think she remembers what that feels like.I don’t know how long the Hunters held her captive, but I think it was a long time.
“You’ll stay here,” I continue gently.“In this room.As long as you want.You’ll get clothes, food, medical care, but only what you agree to.No one touches you without permission, your permission.”
She blinks rapidly.
“I’m not in a cell,” she whispers, like she’s evaluating the idea.
“No,” I say, voice low.“You’re not.”
Her breathing wavers.She looks around the room like she’s seeing it for the first time.The dresser.The blankets.The window without any bars.Freedom, in small enough pieces she can manage.
She lifts her gaze back to mine.Her voice is so small I almost miss the question.“Will you ...stay?”
My breath catches.Not because of the question.But because she looks afraid of the answer.Like she expects me to disappear.Like she expects abandonment.
I keep my voice soft and steady.“I’ll stay.As long as you want me here.”
Her throat works as she swallows and her eyes shine with unshed tears she refuses to let fall.I stay in the chair and keep the distance between us.I will let her set the pace.
The bond flickers again, bright, then fading, then a pulse of pain.She winces visibly.I feel it too.
She curls in on herself.“I’m sorry.”
“No.”The word leaves me harder than I intend.I soften it immediately.“No.You don’t apologize.Not for this.Not ever.”
She swallows.“It’s hurting you.”
“It’s hurtingus,” I correct gently.“But it’s not your fault.It’s the drugs.The trauma.It’ll heal.”
“I don’t think it will.”
“It will,” I say with a certainty I don’t feel.“You survived them.You’ll survive this.”
She looks at me for a long, trembling moment.Then her voice drops barely above a whisper.“Silas ...I don’t know how to be around people anymore.”
My heart breaks cleanly in my chest.“We’ll take it one breath at a time,” I tell her softly.“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes shine.“Promise?”
I nod.She exhales shakily and her body relaxes just a little.And for the first time since I found her in that cage she doesn’t look quite as terrified as she did before.
Not safe.
Not trusting.
Not healed.
But I’m not terrified.
I’ll take it.I sit with her for hours, quiet and still, as she drifts in and out of exhausted sleep.Every time she wakes, she checks if I’m still there.And every time, I am.
