“Diego?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it really the crow?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew?”
“Nature has a baseline,” he says softly. His voice rumbles in his chest, vibrating against me. “Predators disturb the baseline. Birds fly. Insects go quiet. If you listen, the world tells you where the bad things are.”
“Is that how you survived?”
“It’s how I kept breathing.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
He doesn’t answer.
I rest my forehead against his shoulder blade. The scent of him is overwhelming here—earth and sweat and the faint metallic tang of the gun he’s clutching against his chest.
It should be terrifying. Sleeping in the dirt with a killer.
But the fear is gone.
“You were right,” I whisper.
“About what?”
“About the truck. About the chaos.”
“Chaos is the only truth.”
“No.” I shift, pressing closer to his warmth. “You are.”
He stiffens.
“Go to sleep, Cassie.”
“You saved me.”
“Sleep.”
I close my eyes. The wind howls outside our tiny burrow. The woods are dark and full of things that want to kill us.
But here, under the silver blanket, anchored by the weight of the man who calls himself a ghost, warmth finally returns.
My hand drifts. Without thinking, I unclench my fist and rest my palm flat against his stomach.
He inhales sharply.
He doesn’t push me away.
He covers my hand with his own. His fingers lace through mine.
Holding on.
“Goodnight, Halo,” I whisper.
