I was already grabbing a blanket from the closet. The guest room was down the hall, but I wanted to be between her and the front door. If anyone came through it, they'd have to get past me first.
"Cal, I can't?—"
"You can." I leaned forward, and something in my voice must have convinced her to stop arguing. "I'm not letting you go back to that apartment for a while. Not when we don't know if he's still out there, if he's watching, if he's waiting for you to be alone."
She stared at me for a long moment. I couldn't read her expression. Couldn't tell if she was grateful or angry or something else entirely.
"Why?" she finally asked.
The question hung between us, loaded with everything we'd never said. Six months of silence. Three years of history. The dead man standing in the space between us.
Because I promised Mateo.
"Because you need help," I said instead. "And I'm here."
It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't everything.
Lucy looked at me for another long moment, searching for something in my face. I didn't know if she found it. But finally, she nodded.
"Okay," she whispered.
She took the bedroom. I took the couch, even though I knew I wouldn't sleep.
The apartment was quiet after she closed the door, just the soft sounds of her moving around, running water in the bathroom, the creak of the mattress as she lay down. I sat in the dark living room with my back against the couch cushions and listened to every sound, cataloging them the way I cataloged everything. Making sure nothing was wrong.
An hour passed. Maybe two. The building settled around us, groaning and sighing the way old buildings do. I kept my eyes on the door, on the windows, on every shadow that moved.
Then I heard her.
Not crying, this time. Something worse. A sharp gasp, the sound of someone fighting against sheets, a voice I barely recognized saying "no, no, please" in a broken rhythm that made my chest ache.
I was on my feet before I could think about it. Across the room, down the short hallway, stopping outside the bedroom door.
Don't go in. You're not what she needs. You're just the guy who let Mateo die.
But the sounds kept coming, her voice getting more desperate, and I couldn't stand there and listen anymore.
I pushed the door open.
She was tangled in the blankets, thrashing, her face twisted in the grip of something I couldn't see. The moonlight through the window caught the tears on her cheeks.
"Lucy." I kept my voice low, steady. "Lucy, wake up."
Nothing.
I moved closer, crouched beside the bed. Didn't touch her. Just put myself in her line of sight, waiting.
"Lucy. You're safe. It's just a dream."
Her eyes flew open.
For a moment, she didn't see me. She couldn’t see anything but whatever nightmare had followed her from sleep. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, her hands clutching the blankets like they were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.
Then her eyes finally focused and found my face. And something in her expression shifted from terror to confusion to something else I couldn't name.
"Cal?" Her voice was raw. "What are you?—"
"You were having a nightmare." I stayed where I was, crouched beside the bed, giving her space to orient herself. "I heard you through the wall."
