I shift under the throw blanket, slow and careful like the world might explode if I breathe too hard. My neck’s stiff from the couch cushion. My left foot’s asleep. I’m wearing yesterday’s mascara and it’s staging a hostile takeover on my cheekbones.
But I don’t care.
Because he’s still there.
Voltar.
Right where he stood last night.
Unmoving.
Unyielding.
Unmistakablyhim.
He’s backlit by soft morning haze leaking through the window, massive arms crossed, frame outlined in pale gold like a statue carved out of war and starlight. His head turns slightly when I stir, just enough to show he’s not asleep. Hasn’t been.
He’s been watching.
Guarding.
Waiting.
And I don’t know what to do with the way that makes me feel.
He could’ve gone. Could’ve done some creepy silent sweep of the building or stalked off to do chin-ups on a satellite dish or whatever the hell it is he does when he’s not being an overbuilt menace. But he stayed.
For me.
All night.
I clear my throat and sit up.
The blanket slides off my shoulders, and I wrap it tighter around myself. There’s no reason to feel cold, but I do anyway.
He turns, just enough to face me.
Not all the way.
Like even now he’s giving me space.
I hate how much I appreciate that.
“Hey,” I say, voice scratchy. “You didn’t have to… y’know. Keep watch.”
Voltar grunts.
An eloquent sound, if you speak Alien Grunt Fluently, which I now do. I think this one means‘Yes, I did.’
I chew the inside of my cheek, eyes scanning the room for something, anything to distract from the stupid warmth rising in my throat. The idea of someone staying. Choosing to stay. It’s foreign. Luxurious.
Dangerous.
“I slept,” I say. “That’s… new.”
His brow twitches. “Unacceptable.”
My head tilts. “What, sleep?”
