Kael’s eyes close briefly.
Something deep and raw twists in my chest.
I lift my free hand—slowly, deliberately—toward her face.My fingers graze her cheekbone, brushing away a tear she didn’t notice.
She leans into the touch instinctively.
Not flinching.
Not afraid.
Trusting me.
Something inside me breaks open so quietly it feels like it’s been cracking for weeks.
“We’re not leaving,” I say.
Finn nods, voice barely audible.“Not ever.”
Kael’s tone is steady, but the emotion beneath it is a pull I can feel in my own ribs.“Sleep, Wren.We’ve got you.”
Her eyes drift closed.
Finn’s fingers in her hair slow their tempo, becoming rhythmic and soothing, and her breathing begins to even out.
Kael reaches for her other hand where it rests on the blanket and places his palm over it—soft, silent.
Mine is still intertwined with hers, her fingers curled into my palm like she’s holding onto me through the dark.
Minutes pass.
Or hours.
Time dissolves.
Finn is the first to fall asleep, head tilted back against the couch, arm still around her.
Kael stays awake longer, watching her face with the kind of quiet devotion that makes something sharp bloom in my chest.
Eventually his head tips forward.His hand stays where it is.
I do not sleep.
I stay awake.
I keep watch.
She breathes.
I breathe.
The night stretches and bends around us.
Every time her fingers twitch in mine, every time she shifts closer, every time she sighs in her sleep—
I fall a little harder.
My eyes stay on the door.
