“We’re not prisoners.”
“No. You’re refugees in a war you didn’t sign up for.” He opened the door, then paused, looking back one last time. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t make the smart move. Xavier needs someone who won’t abandon him when things get hard. You seem like you might be that person.”
He left before I could respond.
We climbed narrow stairs to the second floor. Hellhound had said guest rooms, plural, but I pushed open the first door we reached and pulled Xavier inside.
A double bed. Clean sheets. Windows overlooking dark campus.
Good enough.
I sat on the edge of the mattress. Xavier remained standing, watching me with those too-bright eyes.
“Two weeks.” The words came out quiet. “That’s what Hellhound said. Two weeks before the overdose kills you.”
Xavier’s jaw tightened before lowering himself on the bed beside me, leaning over and pressing his forehead to mine.
We stayed like that. Breathing the same air. Hearts beating too fast. The weight of two weeks and a thirty percent chance pressing down until I thought we’d both break under it.
Finally, Xavier pulled back. Just far enough to meet my eyes.
His mouth shaped words I couldn’t hear. Thank you.
Then he kissed me.
Not desperate like this morning. Not frantic. Just soft. Deliberate. A promise sealed with touch instead of voice.
I kissed him back. Tasted rain and violence and the faint copper of fear. His body trembled when my hands slid into his hair. I broke open when he pulled me closer, anchoring us together against whatever hell was coming.
When we finally separated, his pupils were better, his breathing more regular, and something in his expression had shifted.
Hope, maybe. Or determination.
We’d need both to survive the next two weeks.
I stood. Pulled back the covers. “Get some sleep. We start monitoring symptoms in the morning.”
He climbed in. Didn’t let go of my hand.
I followed. Settled beside him. Let him pull me close until my head found that perfect spot against his neck and his arms locked around me like he could hold off brain death through sheer force of will.
Outside, wind howled through bare trees. The chapel bell tolled midnight. Somewhere in the dark, Oblivion was hunting.
But here, in this small room in a borrowed safehouse, we had two weeks.
Maybe three if we were lucky.
I closed my eyes against the burn starting behind them.
Please let us be lucky.
Let him survive this.
Just this once.
Chapter 16
Clare
