The water turns off, and I hear Eris shuffling around, mumbling too low for me to understand.
The door clicks so loudly when it opens that I snap to attention and Silas shoves off the wall, ready to… I don’t know what.
Eris steps out of the bathroom in my shirt, the hem grazing the tops of her thighs. Her bare legs seem to stretch for days, and her damp raven black hair is down for once, creating a curtain of messy waves around her face.
And I forget how to breathe, split between the quiet beauty Eris exudes and the nerdy little kid stuck in my brain screaming about his real-life Shego.
Yeah, Kim Possible was hot and all… But Shego was the real main character when she was on screen.
“Thank you,” Eris says, her expression stripped of everything except quiet exhaustion.
That’s all.
Two simple words.
Sincere.
Soft.
Direct.
I don’t deserve them.
None of us do.
I can’t even trust myself to speak, so I nod, swallowing around a knot lodged in my throat.
Eris climbs into my bed like it’s familiar, as if she’s done it a hundred times in a hundred different versions of us. She tucks my dark quilt around her shoulders and closes her eyes with a heavy sigh.
I stand there for a full minute, like a man caught between devotion and madness. She doesn’t tell me to leave, and I contemplate staying, but I don’t want to push her.
Eventually, I force myself away to join Silas and Jace in the living room.
The loft is dimly lit this early in the morning, tense as we observe the sky shifting colors with the rising sun. It’s the type of quiet that feels like there’s something waiting to be spoken aloud.
Silas pours a drink without looking at either of us. Jace sits on the arm of the couch, foot restlessly wiggling as he stares into the hallway with a haunted expression.
No one speaks for a few minutes.
Jace breaks first.
“Is she asleep?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, holding my hands out. “I think so.”
He huffs and turns his attention from the hallway to me with a grin. “I would have gone to your room, too. Your bed is the most comfortable.”
There’s no jealousy or surprise in his tone. His expression is one of acceptance.
Silas sets his glass down, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. “Did she say anything?”
“Just ‘thank you.’ But nothing else.”
“We don’t deserve that,” Jace mutters under his breath.
“Is she unraveling?” Silas sighs and stretches his neck, rolling his head left and right. “Or did we intrude on something? I feel like we only have half of the story.”
“If she’s unraveling, then she’s not the only one,” I admit, dropping into a computer chair at the desk. “But it doesn’t feel like she’s falling apart at all. It feels like… like she’s dug her feet in, shouldering the storm.”
