The way he says it makes it clear this isn’t just about a dangerous place. This is personal. Terrifying.
“You know it,” Bree realizes.
Stellan doesn’t answer immediately. When he does, his voice is carefully controlled again. “I know what it does to people.”
An uncomfortable silence settles over the room. Whatever the Void is, whatever happened there, it’s worse than any of us understood.
No one presses for more details. There’s an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: they’re not ready to talk about it, and Stellan clearly has his own reasons for knowing about it. We can all wait.
Eventually, Stellan suggests rest. One by one, the others drift away—reluctant, but recognizing that crowding her won’t help. Wes lingers the longest, his dark eyes full of concern, but even he eventually retreats upstairs.
I stay.
I always stay.
It’s what I do—hold the line, keep watch, make sure she’s safe even when she doesn’t know she needs protecting. Especially then.
Bree shifts on the couch, drawing her knees up toward her chest. She’s wearing one of my hoodies again—the gray one she claimed weeks ago and never gave back. Either that or the Sanctuary stole it for her. It swallows her small frame, the sleeves covering her hands completely.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” she says quietly, not looking at me.
“Not babysitting.” I settle into the chair closest to the couch, close enough to reach her if she needs me. “Just staying.”
She glances up then, and I see the exhaustion in her light green eyes. The kind of tired that sleep won’t fix. Whatever happened in that void left marks on her—not physical ones, but deeper.
“I’m okay,” she whispers.
We both know it’s a lie.
But I don’t call her on it. Instead, I just nod and lean back in my chair, making it clear I’m not going anywhere.
The silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but heavy. The kind of quiet that carries weight.
After a few minutes, she shifts again—uncurling from her defensive position and sliding closer to the edge of the couch. Closer to me.
“Rhett?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you—” She stops, biting her lip. “Never mind.”
“What do you need?”
She stares at her hands for a long moment, silver mist curling around her fingers. When she looks up, there’s something vulnerable in her expression that makes my chest tight.
“I just want to feel safe for a minute.”
The words hit me like a punch. Because I know what she’s asking, and I know what it costs her to ask it. Trust doesn’t come easy to Bree—it never has. But she’s offering it to me anyway.
“Come here,” I say softly.
She doesn’t hesitate. Just unfolds herself from the couch and crosses the small space between us. For a moment she hovers, uncertain, and I realize she’s waiting for permission.
I shift in the chair, making room, and she settles against me—tentative at first, then with growing confidence. Her head finds my shoulder, her body curving into mine like she belongs there.
Because she does. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
The moment she settles against me, heat builds under my skin.
