“Unfortunately,” I whisper, voice thick with sleep. “I was having a dream where I wasn’t being hunted.”
“Go back to sleep.”
I blink up at him. The night air is cool, and runway lights glow behind him. His face is shadows and hard lines, but his arms are sure. Solid.
“I can walk,” I say weakly.
“You can,” he agrees. He doesn’t put me down.
My heartbeat speeds up in a way that is absolutely not appropriate. “Sin,” I murmur.
“What?”
“You’re carrying me like… like?—”
“Like what.”
“Like you’re about to put me in a tower and fight a dragon.”
He exhales, and I feel it against my forehead. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. He carries me to a black SUV waiting near the plane. The driver opens the back door. Sin slides me in carefully, like I’m breakable, then climbs in after me.
I should sit up. I should be alert. Instead I lean into the seat and watch him in the dim light. He’s watching the windows again. The mirrors. The road. Always the road. His hand rests on the edge of the seat near my hip, not touching, but there. Like a barrier.
Like a promise.
We drive a long time. The roads get quieter, narrower. Trees thicken. Darkness deepens. My eyes drift in and out. Every time I blink awake, Sin’s still there.
Still steady.
Still guarding.
By the time we pull into a gravel drive, my body feels heavy again. The world outside is black and silent, the kind of quiet that feels expensive. Hidden. A house appears ahead, set back among trees. No lights in the windows except a faint glow inside, warm and low. It looks like a cabin, but nicer. Safe. Off-grid, but not primitive.
Sin gets out first, scans the area, then opens my door.
I step down, legs stiff. The night air bites my cheeks. I hug myself, suddenly aware of how alone this place is.
Sin closes the door and guides me toward the house. His hand hovers at my back again. Not pressing. Just… there.
We go inside. The safe house is warm, wood and stone, a faint scent of cedar. A living room with a low couch, a kitchen that looks stocked, a hallway that leads deeper.
Sin moves through it like he’s mapping it. Checking windows. Checking locks. Turning on minimal lights.
I stand near the entry, suddenly aware of how quiet my brain is now that we’ve stopped moving. Fear creeps in when the noise stops.
Sin looks over. “You want water?”
I nod. “Yes. Also therapy.”
He pours water, and hands it to me. Our fingers brush again. A spark, small but sharp. I take a sip to hide my reaction.
“What now?” I ask.
“Now you sleep,” he says.
