Her fingers twitch beneath the towel—just once. Like she heard me. Like she’s trying to answer but can’t.
“You’re safe now,” I tell her again, voice low and steady. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
She shivers. Hard. The shock hits her now that the heat is gone.
I move quickly, grab her duvet, pull it down, and lift her just enough to slide her onto the sheets. Her wet hair sticks to her cheek, and I brush it back with my knuckles. She closes her eyes at the touch, small lines of tension still etched between her brows.
“Lucky,” I murmur, leaning in so she can’t mistake who’s here, who’s holding her, who isn’t the monster in her memory. “It’s Ethan. You’re with me. You’re not alone.”
She swallows—tiny, tight—and a tear slides from the corner of her eye, disappearing into the pillow.
That one kills me.
Because she didn’t cry when I carried her. Didn’t cry when I turned off the water. Didn’t cry when she was curled on that shower floor.
She cries only when she realizes someone stayed.
“Hey,” I say softly, my thumb brushing her cheek. “I’ve got you. I promise you’re okay.”
Another broken sound escapes her, closer to a sob this time, but she tries to swallow it down like she’s ashamed of it.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t hold it in. Not with me.”
Her fingers finally move—lifting, wavering—before they curl into my shirt near my chest. A desperate, instinctive clutch.
As if she’s still falling and I’m the only solid thing left in her world.
My breath leaves me in a hard exhale.
“Good girl,” I murmur. “Hold on.”
She’s half-conscious, trembling, drifting in and out of something dark and deep and terrifying, but she holds onto me anyway. And that—God, that—unravels something in me I haven’t let unravel since Mara.
I push the thought away like a knife.
Focus. Her. Only her.
Her lips tremble. “E–Ethan?”
Barely audible. Barely formed. But it hits me like a fist.
“I’m here,” I answer instantly, leaning closer so she doesn’t have to search for me. “I’m right here.”
She tries to breathe, but her chest jerks, too tight, too fast—panic rising again.
“Hey, look at me,” I say, lowering my voice, grounding it. “Count with me. Just like this. In…”
I inhale slowly, exaggerated so she can hear it.
“…and out.”
Her breaths stutter. But she tries.
“In… and out. That’s it.”
I brush my thumb along her jaw, keeping her anchored.
“Stay with me, Lucky. I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen to you while I’m here.”
