Because holding her like this feels… right. Like something I’ve been missing without knowing it.
And I don’t know what happens next. Don’t know how to protect her from everything clawing at her life. Don’t know how to keep myself from falling deeper than I already have.
But I know one thing with absolute clarity:
I’m not leaving her tonight.
Not now.
Not ever, if she’ll let me.
She breathes softly against my chest, and I rest my chin lightly on her hair, closing my eyes as her heartbeat syncs with mine.
She finally sleeps.
And I finally let myself feel the weight of what she means to me.
A knock, low and controlled, pulls me from sleep.
I blink, disoriented for a second—until I feel the warm weight curled against me. Lucky, soft, and tucked under my arm, breathing steadily into my chest. Finally resting.
I check the clock on the mantle, it’s three a.m.
Carefully—carefully—I ease myself out from under her. She stirs once, palm sliding across my stomach as if searching for me, and I pause, breath held.
She settles again.
I pull the blanket higher over her shoulders, making sure she’s covered, safe, and hidden from the early morning chill creeping through the house.
Another knock—barely audible.
I check the door cam. Sam’s leaning casually against the frame, smirk in place. I don’t respond. Not yet.
A quick glance back at Lucky, and I pull on a pair of jeans, zipping them up as I step onto the porch. Sam watches, amusement clear in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment. I don’t offer an explanation and shut the door behind me.
“So it’s official, you and her,” he observes, but I know he’s only teasing.
I don’t rise to it. “Not offering commentary.”
He snorts but doesn’t push. “Didn’t plan on asking. Couldn’t resist noticing.”
“Good,” I mutter. “Now drop it.”
His smirk says he won’t—but at least he won’t say it out loud.
The night air is cold, fog lifting off the lake in lazy streams. He adjusts the strap on his pack, scanning my cabin, then Lucky’s, then the tree line like he’s already cataloguing vulnerable angles.
“Before anything else,” I tell him quietly, “She stays invisible,” I say flatly. “You stay invisible too. Understood?”
Sam’s face shifts—humor gone, all business. “Perimeter first. I’ll trace it, see if our subject’s moving, see if he’s trying to circle back before he even knows we’re awake.”
“I’ve got a file. Bureau intel on our target, a bulk of it is redacted,” I say, lowering my voice.
Sam looks over. “Why? That’s unusual.”
“Very,” I mutter. “Makes me wonder what—orwho—they’re hiding behind him.”
“Could be hundreds of hypothetical reasons.”
