The certainty in his words eases my worries. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” His lips brush the side of my neck. “You protected me tonight, because I’m yours. And I protect what’s mine, too. Lena is family now.”
Family.
The word catches in my chest, a hook pulling at pieces of me I thought had scarred over years ago. Not Lena and me alone anymore, surviving day by day through will and careful calculations. But a wider circle with strong arms and dangerous hands, resources I’ve never had access to before.
“She’s all I have,” I whisper into the darkness, words I’ve never admitted aloud to anyone.
Rowan cradles my jaw, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone with surprising gentleness. “Not anymore. You have me. You have Saint. You have my crew. Anyone who comes for her comes through all of us.”
The burden I’ve carried for years doesn’t vanish, but it lessens with the knowledge that I no longer carry it alone.
I tuck my head beneath Rowan’s chin, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability in the dark. His heart beats steady beneath my ear, a rhythm I could time my life by.
“Try to sleep,” Rowan murmurs, his fingers carding through my hair in slow, hypnotic strokes. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk to Lena and move you both into our home for good.”
Home. The concept has always been fluid for me, a series of apartments, each one chosen for security rather than comfort, for affordability rather than belonging. But when Rowan says it, I picture his loft with its solid walls and reinforced locks, its soundproofed walls and space enough for Lena to spread out without fear.
More than that, I picture Rowan placing his body in the path of danger, shielding those he claims as his, and for the first time, I understand true safety isn’t about walls or locks or escape routes. It’s about knowing you’re not facing the darkness alone.
My palm rests over his heart, soothed by the strong, steady rhythm beneath warm skin. Outside, a siren wails in the distance, rising and falling as it cuts through the night.
My mind tracks it, calculating distance, direction, and how long it takes before it fades, the way I always do, measuring response time and calculating risk.
Then I realize I’m not planning anything.
I’m not counting seconds between the rise and fall.
Not cataloging exits.
Not mapping the quickest route from Lena’s room to the fire escape.
The apartment sits quiet around us, Rowan’s arm holding me, his heartbeat still steady beneath my palm.
For once, I don’t need a backup plan.
Outside, the siren fades into nothing, and I let myself follow Rowan into sleep.
25
Ijolt awake, heart hammering, disoriented by how deeply I slept.
No dreams. No waking every hour to listen for danger. Only darkness, and then morning, with nothing in between. The realization unsettles me more than any nightmare could have.
Light filters through the narrow blinds, painting stripes across Rowan’s arm where it drapes over my waist, anchoring me to him. Carefully, I slide out from under it, my feet finding the cold floor. He stirs but doesn’t wake, sleep softening his features in a way that always makes my breath catch.
The clock shows a little after six o’clock, too early for Lena to be up on a weekend, but my internal alarm never cares what day it is. Slipping on mysweatpants, I pad down the hallway, avoiding the creaky spots. The apartment holds a different air about it this morning. Still small, still worn, but somehow less oppressive.
At Lena’s door, I pause and open it a crack to peer inside.
She lies curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, dark hair spilling across her pillow. Her breathing comes even and deep, undisturbed by whatever dreams might visit her. Safe, for now. I stand there for several heartbeats, counting her breaths until I’m satisfied.
When I retrace my steps, Rowan hasn’t moved from his sprawl across my too-small mattress, but his amber eyes now light on me.
“She okay?” he rasps, still not fully awake.
“Still sleeping.” I hover in the doorway, suddenly uncertain of my place in my own room.
