Only survival will.
4
RACHEL
Sleep refuses to come.
I've been lying in bed for over an hour, staring at the ceiling since I told Lucas goodnight and watched Colton settle onto the couch. Security installation finished around nine, cameras mounted and motion sensors calibrated. Colton walked me through the system one more time, showing me how the alerts work and what to do if something triggers it. Then he sent me to bed with instructions to rest while he keeps watch.
Rest. Like my mind will cooperate when the man who used to hold me through the night is in the living room playing bodyguard.
Still wearing my jeans and t-shirt from earlier, I lie under a light blanket instead of changing into pajamas. Old habits from the compound. Always ready to move, always ready to run. I told myself I'd gotten past this hypervigilance, but apparently my body knows better than my therapist does. When real danger comes knocking, survival instincts take over.
Every creak of wood sounds like footsteps. Every hum of the refrigerator sounds like voices. Motion sensors stay silent for now, but I keep waiting for them to ping. Keep waiting for proof that the danger Colton warned me about is real.
Colton is in the living room on my couch, armed and watching the front window like he's standing guard against an army.
This should comfort me, but it doesn't. Instead, it keeps me awake with memories I've spent years trying to bury.
His hands used to move over my skin like I was something precious. Like touching me was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world instead of drifting into whatever darkness lived behind his eyes. I remember the way he'd pull me close in the middle of the night, not for sex but for the simple act of holding on. Like if he let go, he'd disappear completely.
I thought I was saving him. Thought my love could be enough to anchor him to something besides violence and missions he couldn't talk about. Thought if I just held on tight enough, he'd choose me over whatever called him back to the dark.
Turns out I was wrong about all of it.
My digital clock reads 10:22 PM. Lucas fell asleep hours ago after I read him two chapters of his current book and rubbed his back until his breathing evened out. He didn't ask questions about Colton staying for a while, didn't push when I told him he was here to help keep us safe. Just accepted it with the easy trust of a kid who still believes his mother can protect him from anything.
I need that to stay true. Need Lucas to keep believing the world is safe as long as I'm watching over him. Even if it means lying about the danger hunting us through databases and security footage. Even if it means letting Colton Stryker back into our lives.
Sheets tangle around my legs as I sit up. My bedroom door is open a crack, the way I've kept it since we came home from Mateo's compound. Always listening. Always ready to move if Lucas needs me. Hallway stretches dark and quiet toward his room at the far end.
I slip out of bed and pad down the hall in bare feet. Lucas's door is open wider than mine, and ambient light from his nightlight spills into the corridor. He's sprawled across his mattress in the boneless way kids sleep, one arm flung over his head and the other clutching the stuffed wolf Micah gave him after the extraction. The wolf is worn now, one ear partially detached and the stitching on the paws coming loose.
Some things are too big for words. Some fears live too deep to drag into the light.
I pull his blanket up over his shoulders and brush hair off his forehead. He doesn't stir. Deep sleep, genuine rest in his own bed. Something he couldn't manage for months after we came home.
Walking away from his room requires physical effort. Every instinct screams to stay close, to keep watch, to make sure nothing touches him while he's vulnerable. But Colton is in the living room, and I can't avoid him forever.
Hallway stays dark as I make my way toward the living room. Glow from the front window where streetlights filter through the blinds grows brighter as I approach. Colton sits on my couch exactly where I left him hours ago, weapon on the coffee table within easy reach, eyes fixed on the window.
He doesn't turn when I enter the room, but his shoulders shift slightly. Aware of my presence without needing to look.
"You should rest," I say, keeping my voice low.
"I'm fine." His tone is flat, professional. The voice he uses when he's on mission instead of being a person.
I cross to the armchair across from the couch and settle into it, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. Making myself smaller, more protected. A habit from the compound that I can't seem to break.
Silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded with everything we're not saying.
"You can't stay awake all night," I say. "You'll be useless if something actually happens."
"I've gone longer without sleep." He still doesn't look at me. "This is nothing."
"This isn't a combat zone, Colton. You're in my living room, not a firebase."
"Every where's a combat zone if the right people are hunting you." His jaw tightens. "The Committee doesn't take breaks. Doesn't get tired. They'll keep searching until they find Lucas, and when they do, they'll move fast."
