The words settled between us, heavy and right.
When he kissed me, it was slow. Careful. Like he was asking instead of taking. I answered by leaning closer, by letting myhands curl into his shirt, by trusting that he would stop if I needed him to.
He didn’t rush.
He never did.
Later, when we moved to the bedroom, the world narrowed to quiet touches and whispered reassurances. He stayed mindful of my injuries, reverent even—like the fact that I was here, choosing him, mattered more than anything else.
After, I lay against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around me, his breath warm at the back of my neck.
“I don’t feel broken,” I murmured.
His grip tightened just slightly. “You never were.”
Sleep came easier than I expected.
But sometime before dawn, something tugged me awake.
Not fear.
Awareness.
Trigger was already sitting up beside me, body tense, head tilted slightly like he was listening to something just beyond the walls.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“Nothing,” he said automatically.
Then, after a beat, “Or maybe something.”
I held my breath.
He reached for the radio on the nightstand, checking it without turning it on. The fire had burned down completely. Outside, the forest was still.
Too still.
“What?” I pressed.
He didn’t answer right away. Just stood, moving to the window, parting the curtain a fraction.
Finally, he said, “One of the perimeter sensors reset.”
My stomach dropped. “Tripped?”
“No,” he said slowly. “Cleared. Like someone walked close enough to test it… and backed off.”
A chill slid through me—not panic, not yet.
But warning.
Trigger turned back to me, his face already hardening into something more guarded.
“Get some rest,” he said gently. “Probably nothing.”
Probably.
But as he reached for his gear and stepped quietly into the hall, I knew—
