“You did good, Calder,” she said quietly, usin’ my real name like always. “Got her out before the fire took her.”
I looked at Lark again. Her face so pale, her fingers twitchin’ against the blanket. “Yeah,” I said. “But will she be okay?”
“She’s strong,” Miriam said. “Just needs rest. The ones who survive the fire usually are.”
A faint voice broke between us. “I’m fine,” Lark whispered, not even openin’ her eyes. “Just need to rest.”
I didn’t argue. Didn’t move. Just stood there until her breathing evened out again.
“Go and let me get her clean and dry,” Miriam said, giving me a push toward the door. When the door shut behind me, I sat on the steps not ready to leave.
Downstairs, the house creaked with life again—low voices, doors closing, the sound of rain soft against the roof. I sat on the stairs for a while, listening.
When Miriam came out later, she set a hand on my shoulder. “She’s sleepin’,” she said. “You can stop hoverin’, Calder.”
I gave a small nod, waited until she was gone, then went back to the doorway. Couldn’t’ve said why, just felt like I needed to see for myself.
She shifted under the blanket, murmured one word so faint it almost wasn’t there. “Please.”
That single word cracked somethin’ open in me I hadn’t realized I’d been holdin’.
Leanin’ close, I brushed her hair from her face and said, quiet but sure, “You’re safe now, darlin’. No one can hurt you now.”
Her breath slowed. Sleep took her.
Mine didn’t.
The house settled soft around me, hum of rain outside, that kind of silence that feels more alive than empty.
After a while, I stepped out back. The air hit cool and clean, thick with the smell of pine and damp earth. My bike sat under the oak, chrome dull with rain. I leaned against it, coffee mug in hand, watchin’ the steam rise.
Ash was already there, leanin’ against his truck, cigarette glowin’ in the dark. We didn’t talk right away.
Finally, he exhaled, smoke pale in the night. “You took a hit.”
“Just a graze.” I flexed my arm. “Not worth fussin’ over.”
His eyes flicked toward the house, to the window glowin’ soft upstairs. “You were brave as hell going back for her. Someone you didn’t even know.”
“Did what had to be done,” I said. “It’s not hero work. Just cleanin’ up somebody else’s mess.”
Ash nodded slow. “Miriam’ll see to the women. But Lark, she’s carrying something heavy. Won’t let you see it easy.”
I dragged a thumb along the chipped edge of my mug. “Yeah. I figured.”
He flicked the cigarette into the wet grass. “Be careful, Chain. She’s got a shell for a reason.”
Then he turned back toward the house, boots crunchin’ over gravel. “Get that arm stitched before it goes bad.”
The door shut behind him, light spillin’ once, then gone.
I stayed where I was. The rain had stopped, leavin’ the world damp and quiet. Frogs by the creek. A door slammin’ somewhere in the dark.
I looked back at the window where she slept. The light there flickered soft, gold against the storm-dark sky. My chest felt tight.
Didn’t make a damn bit of sense.
She was a stranger.
