A smile.
Then she turned back to the window, cheek pressed against the glass again, lids drooping.
I sat there, phone forgotten, watching her as she relaxed, peacefully drifting into what seemed like a deep sleep.
She must really need this, seeing how easy it was for her to fall asleep on the bus with all the chaos around her and how easy it is for her to do the same again after already napping for two hours.
For the first time in a while, I felt relaxed.
Soon, the train came to a stop, brakes screeching through the quiet car.
I looked over to my side; she was out cold.
Head still against the glass, lips parted, eyes barely fluttering when the announcement came on.
“Hey,” I said softly, leaning a little closer. “Princess.”
She stirred, like she was swimming through fog. Big brown eyes blinked open, heavy and unfocused.
“C’mon. We’re here.”
She nodded, sluggishly at first, then yawned so wide it almost made me laugh. I reached down before she could move and grabbed her bag, slinging it over my shoulder. She tried to protest, a small shake of the head, but her hand barely lifted before falling back to her side.
“Yeah, no. You’ll drop it,” I muttered, stepping off the train.
She followed behind, dragging her feet, her sweater sleeves hanging past her hands like she’d shrunk in the last hour. The station lights were too bright after the quiet dark of the carriage, and she squinted, rubbing her eyes with her fists.
I slowed my pace so she could keep up, taking every chance to glance at her through the reflection of the windows of each store we walked past.
She looked so damn tiny walking behind me, like a sleepy hamster trying to pretend she wasn’t about to fall asleep standing up.
“Stay awake, Campbell,” I said over my shoulder.
She hummed, a soft, tired sound. It wasn’t even a word, but it was enough to make the corners of my mouth twitch.
We passed the bakery that always smelled like cinnamon at this hour, and her head turned toward it automatically. Of course.
I sighed. “You want something?”
She shook her head quickly, cheeks pink.
Ten minutes. That’s all it was. Ten minutes of quiet pavement, city lights, and her half-asleep footsteps following the rhythm of mine.
The kind of silence that didn’t choke, it just was.
When our building finally came into view, I looked back at her one last time.
Her eyes were barely open now, but she was smiling. Small. Sleepy. Real.
And I had to look away before my chest started doing that thing again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aurora
By the time I got home, the clock on my phone said 7:54 p.m.
I didn’t even bother turning the lights on. I just dropped my bag on the floor, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed face-first onto my bed.
