For a long moment, I can’t make sense of it. My body is still screamingthreat, threat, threat, adrenaline flooding my system, fists clenched so tight my knuckles ache.
I scan the room. The window. The closet. The shadows in every corner.
Nothing.
No one.
She’s safe. She’s safe. Stand down, soldier.
I force myself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way they taught us after the bad missions, when the shaking wouldn’t stop and the faces of dead friends kept flashing behind our eyes.
The desert fades. Claire’s bedroom comes back into focus. Soft light from the hallway. Paintings on the walls—dozens of them, along with an easel and a shelf of paints near the window. The woman I’m supposed to be protecting, staring at me like I’m the threat.
“Claire?” My voice comes out rough. Wrecked.
“What are you doing here? Why…”
“You screamed.” I have to clear my throat. Force my hands to unclench. “I thought somebody had broken in.”
Guilt washes over Claire’s expression. She looks around her room before her gaze meets mine again.
“Oh, god. I’m sorry, I… It was stupid. I apologize. You can go back out in the other room and get some rest. I’m fine.”
I stand there in her doorway, still trying to get my heartbeat under control. Still feeling the ghost of sand under my boots and the weight of a rifle in my hands.
Claire’s words say that she’s all right. Even her tone is somewhat gentle and relaxed.
But I can see that she’s trembling. She looks down at herself, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Making herself small.
She’s not fine. She’s terrified.
Something cracks open in my chest. Something I’ve kept locked away for years.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, it’s no big deal. I have nightmares all the time.”
Yeah. Me too, sweetheart.
I should go. I should turn around and walk back to that chair and put some distance between us. That would be the professional thing to do. The smart thing.
Instead, I find myself moving toward her.
Claire watches me approach, her eyes wide in the dim light. I stop at the edge of her bed, looking down at her. She’s still shaking. Still wrapped up in herself like she’s trying to hold the pieces together.
I know that feeling. I know it too damn well.
Without thinking, I reach down and pull the blanket up over her legs. Gently. Like she might break if I’m not careful.
“Alec, you don’t have to?—”
“Shh.”
I sit on the edge of her mattress. The bed dips under my weight, and Claire goes very still. Her breath catches.
There’s a strand of hair stuck to her cheek, damp with sweat from the nightmare. I reach out and brush it away with my fingertips, tucking it behind her ear.
Her skin is so soft. Warm.
