His eyes flash sharp, then soften. “Get in.”
I fall past the threshold, knees buckling. He catches me before I hit the floor, kicks the door shut with his boot. Bolts slide. Locks turn. He arms every latch, every trap in sequence like he’s done it a hundred times.
I lean against the wall, trembling.
“They came,” I manage to say.
“I know.”
“They were looking for me.”
“I know,” he says again. Not cold. Not surprised. Just ready.
He checks the last trigger on the floorboard near the entrance. Then turns, crosses to me, and crouches low.
His hand cups my cheek.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Just...”
“Just scared.” He finishes it for me.
I nod. Once. Barely.
He pulls me into him. I don’t resist. I fold. Completely.
I feel the steady thrum of his heart under my cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine. His hands are on my back, steady and sure.
“It’s real now,” I whisper.
“It’s been real,” he replies. “This is just the part where they show their teeth.”
He holds me until my shaking slows. Until I can breathe again.
And even then, he doesn’t let go.
“I hate that I let myself believe the quiet meant safe.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.” My voice is breaking now, sharp and cracking around the edges. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see how close it was. Ceera—she had toshove meinto a damn tunnel.”
Still, he says nothing.
I want him to yell back. To fight me. Todo something.
Instead, he watches me unravel, bit by bit, like he's letting me burn it all down.
“I should’ve left,” I say, quieter now. “When I had the chance. I should’ve known better than to think I could stay anywhere longer than a season.”
Silence.
“I should’ve known better than to think I could trust you.”
That hits. I see it. A flicker in his jaw, the way his shoulders go still. But he doesn’t rise to it.
I shake my head, furious tears scalding the corners of my eyes. “Say something, damn it.”
