She stared ahead for a long beat.
“I didn’t hear them die, Kawan. But I heard their fucking silence, and that’s worse. I keep playing it over and over and over. And that deafening quiet of them not responding is louder than the explosions.”
He didn’t speak.
Just turned to her and opened his arms.
Lark hesitated… then folded into him with a big sigh.
The first sob was silent. Just a tremor against his chest where her forehead landed. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. And then the dam broke.
Kawan held her tightly—careful of her ribs and shoulder—cradling her, and he wouldn’t let go. Her pain poured out in fractured breaths and quiet tears. No dramatics. No hysteria. Just raw grief.
Pure and unfiltered.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to fix it. He just let her feel it. Let her break, knowing she needed to fully shatter in order to put herself back together again.
Because that was who she was.
Eventually, her breaths evened out. Her head rested against his shoulder.
And in the stillness, he whispered the truth he hadn’t said aloud in years, “I’m not letting you go through this alone.”
She didn’t reply.
But she didn’t pull away either.
5
HOTEL LUNA MAR – SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
Light crept in softly through the sheer curtain. Golden. Quiet. Unbothered by the chaos of the world outside. Lark blinked against the glow of the sun peeking through the window. The first thing she registered was warmth against her face—the feeling of calm against the storm.
A steady, living strength—wrapped around her back, anchored at her waist, chest rising and falling in rhythm with her own—reminded her she wasn’t alone. She stilled for a moment while she processed the intrusion.
The tears. The purge. The most needed moment of humanity—shared with another person.
Kawan.
Somehow, he always managed to worm himself into her most challenging and intimate moments.
His arm was draped across her side, his palm flat against her stomach, fingers splayed as if he were holding her together. As if somehow, during the night, he'd known how close she'd come to fleeing.
Lark let her eyes flutter closed again. The sheets were tangled between them, kicked halfway down the bed. Her tank top hadridden up. His bare skin pressed against hers—heat, strength, the faintest brush of stubble against her shoulder.
God, she hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Not in his arms. Not like that.
But she hadn’t wanted to be alone, either.
Kawan shifted behind her, his breath warming her shoulder.
"You’re awake,” he whispered.
“I didn’t mean to… pass out on you.” Her throat was dry, her voice husky. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he murmured, lips brushing across her shoulder. “You needed rest. I was happy to keep watch.”
Lark turned slightly, enough to meet his gaze.
