Kawan’s chest ached at the sound. This wasn’t her first dream in the last twelve hours. In the days and weeks to come, it wouldn’t be her last. He wrapped his arm tighter around her, pulling her gently into him, rooting her to the here and now.
“I’ve got you,” he said against her temple. “You’re safe, Lark. It’s just a dream.”
She twisted in his hold, breath ragged, her hand pounding against his bare chest. Her skin clammy, and her lips parted as another name slipped out—“Mina.”
It was enough to bring tears to his eyes.
He cupped the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair. “You need to let the dream go, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Stay in the present. Stay with me. Right here. Right now.”
Her breathing slowed, bit by bit, her body relaxing in his arms as if she’d heard him. But his own heart still hammered. Seeing her unravel, even in sleep, lit a fire in his blood he didn’t know how to put out. There was no armor for this. No training had prepared him to watch the woman he cared so deeply for suffer from ghosts that wouldn’t die.
Just because he knew how to deal with his ghosts didn’t mean he could help anyone else.
He didn’t know how long he laid there, just holding her. Long enough for her breathing to even out. Long enough for him to rememorize the shape of her. But not long enough to carve out the real peace she needed. God knew she’d earned it.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
Kawan sighed, slowly extricating himself from her tangle of limbs. His injured thigh protested as he stood, but he gritted his teeth and grabbed his camo pants off the chair. He pulled them on with careful movements, then limped to the door and cracked it open.
Thor stood there, arms crossed, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.” Kawan glanced over his shoulder before stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him with a gentle tug.
“Everything all right in there?”
“Define all right.”
Thor ran a hand over his buzzed head. “Shespent the night—you tell me.”
“Are you going to lecture me on appropriate behavior during a mission? Because I’m not in the mood, and this situation doesn’t?—”
“No sermon.” Thor rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a long night, and everyone’s on edge. Jupiter and Specs are still trying to unravel it—but Jupiter’s worried that Specs is going to be the thing that unravels, and who could blame her after what happened. I’ve got little to no intel coming down the ranks. About the only good news is that because of your injury, and our connection to what just happened, we’ve been given a little leeway.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” Kawan asked.
“A couple of weeks to keep out of trouble and run our own little side investigation as long as we keep our noses clean,” Thor said. “How’s Lark doing?”
“Not great,” Kawan admitted. “But she’s not completely gone either. Last night… she let go for a second. She cried.” Kawan grimaced. “I’ve known her a long time. She’s never shed a tear in front of me, and I’ve seen her deal with pain and grief before. But this? It’s different. We all know that.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “She let me hold her. Take care of her, which is a big damn deal.”
“Yeah.” Thor nodded. “For her, that vulnerability probably feels like sitting in a corner wearing a straitjacket while the rest of us are tossing popcorn at her.”
“Ten times worse,” Kawan said. "We know what Moose went through with his old man. But Lark? She grew up in the system."
"Foster care?" Thor asked. “I didn’t know that.”
"Eight or nine different homes. Never stayed anywhere long enough to put down roots." Kawan leaned against the doorframe. "That carves out a different kind of hollow."
“Growing up in foster care didn’t do that to you,” Thor said.
“Yeah." Kawan rubbed the back of his neck. "But I got lucky."
The Paddocks' horse farm. Central New York. Green hills and honest work. Dave and Martha had taken in foster kids for years—loved every single one of them, even if they couldn't make the adoptions stick. In Kawan's case, his piece-of-shit father wouldn't sign away his rights. Kept popping back into his life with empty promises and demands for money. But the Paddocks had kept their promise. Protected him. Given him a home, even if the paperwork said something different. They were family. Blood didn't matter.
"Lark never had stability as kid," Kawan said quietly. "Most of her placements weren't bad people. Just temporary. A bed and three meals, but never a home. She didn't learn what commitment looked like until the military."
"And that's a different kind of love," Thor said.
"Exactly. Brotherhood. Loyalty under fire. But not the kind that says 'I choose you' without conditions."
