But he felt her. Every breath. Every ache. Every quiet thing she hadn’t said.
And God, he revered her for it.
“Promise me,” he said. Low. Reverent. One hand skimmed the side of her neck, trailing to her jaw. “If anything feels off. If you see something. Hear something. If your gut so much as twitches—you call me. Day or night.”
She blew out a long, heavy breath.
She could argue. Push back.
But this wasn’t about control.
This was about care. About the way he anchored her without demanding she stay.
“I promise,” she whispered.
Then, the air shifted again.
The promise hung between them.
Unshaken.
Unbreakable.
Gideon’s jaw relaxed.Not because the fury was gone, it wasn’t. Not because he wasn’t already building a plan in his head.
But because right now?
She was in his arms.
And that mattered more than anything else.
His fingers brushed her wrist, lingering long enough for his thumb to trace the inside of it. A small, grounding touch. Not demanding. Just there.
“Good.” His voice dropped lower, quieter. “That’s all I need.”
A lie.
He needed more than that.
But he wouldn’t ask.
Not yet.
Arden swallowed, and for the first time that night, something inside her eased, barely, but enough. Her breath came slower. Her shoulders lowered.
And then, before she even realized it, she reached for him.
Her fingers fisted the front of his shirt, unthinking, instinctual.
He was solid.
And she needed solid.
He let her hold on.
His hands found her waist—steady, unmoving. Where she was soft, he was stone. But it wasn’t fragility he felt beneath his palms.
It was strength.
