Every sound felt amplified. The crunch of our footsteps, the rasp of Kit’s breath, the faint echo of someone shouting in the distance.
The van sat crookedly near the gate, Marcus’s, by the look of it. The driver’s side door hung slightly ajar, the inside smelling faintly of oil and leather.
Kit scanned the shadows, his eyes sharp and restless.
“Drive,” he said, voice clipped. “We’ll ditch it in the next town, get something clean.”
I nodded, sliding into the driver’s seat. My hands shook slightly as I jammed the key into the ignition. The van rumbled to life, old engine groaning.
Kit jumped in beside me, slamming the door. “Go.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
The tires spun over gravel, sending dust flying as we tore down the narrow road. The old house vanished behind the trees, swallowed by the dark.
I gripped the wheel tighter, forcing myself to breathe. The adrenaline hadn’t faded. It had only changed, coiled into something heavier in my chest.
I should’ve felt relief. Instead, all I felt was a deep, aching sadness.
That house had been the first place I’d felt safe in a long time. Our little corner of quiet. A sanctuary.
Now it was just another ghost.
I looked over at Kit. His hands were clenched in his lap, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the road ahead. There was blood on his sleeve, smeared across his cheek.
A bruise was already forming along his jaw.
“You’re hurt,” I said quietly.
He turned his head, and for the first time since the fight, his gaze softened. “You should see the other guy,” he said, voice hoarse.
“Kit—”
“I’m fine.” But his voice cracked on the word.
I reached out, brushing my fingers along his arm. “You could’ve been killed.”
“So could you,” he shot back. “You almost were.”
I flinched at the rawness in his voice.
“I told you to run,” he said, quieter now. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was gardening and didn’t see your texts,” I admitted, embarrassed.
Kit let out a low, shaky laugh that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
“So are you,” I said.
He turned his head toward me, eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. Something unspoken passed between us, heavy and charged.
Then I leaned over, heart still pounding, and brushed my lips against his cheek. His skin was warm, sweat-slick, the faint copper scent of blood lingering.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For choosing me.”
Kit’s breath hitched. His hand came up, cupping the back of my neck, holding me there like he was afraid I’d disappear.
“I’ll always chose you,” he murmured.
