Not the bone-deep fear exhaustion.
Thegoodkind.
The kind that comes from surviving.
Wolf’s hand rested at the small of my back as we walked down the hallway. Not guiding. Not shielding.
Just present.
When we reached the room, he opened the door and stepped aside, letting me go first.
Another small thing.
Inside, the room felt different now.
Safe.
Lived in.
Ours.
I kicked off my shoes and set them by the door. Wolf followed, closing it softly—but not locking it.
I turned as he shrugged out of his jacket. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us hummed—not tense, just full.
Wolf dragged a hand through his hair. “You were incredible today.”
I shrugged. “I poured drinks and didn’t panic.”
“You reclaimed your life,” he said. “That’s not small.”
Warmth spread through my chest. “You stood back.”
He snorted quietly. “That might’ve been the hardest thing I’ve done.”
I stepped closer and looked up at him. “But you did it.”
His eyes searched my face. “Because you asked me to trust you.”
“And?”
“And I do.”
Something shifted then.
Not urgency.
Not desperation.
Truth.
Wolf lifted his hands slowly, like he was asking permission even now. When I didn’t step away, his palms settled at my waist—steady, warm.
“You scared me,” hesaid quietly.
My breath hitched. “I know.”
“When I thought I might lose you…” His voice roughened, then steadied. “I realized something.”
