Then we’ve got something worse.
Something is hiding in the dark.
“Then we’ve got a ghost.”
7
Laney
Saint is making grilled cheese.
From scratch.
Real butter. Real bread. A pan heating slowly on the stove.
Like this is a normal morning.
Like someone didn’t try to kill me a few hours ago.
I sit at the small kitchen table with Emmy in her carrier, watching him move around the kitchen with quiet focus.
He looks completely calm.
Too calm.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I want to.”
He flips the sandwich carefully.
“You’ve already done enough.”
He glances over his shoulder at me.
His expression softens.
“I’m just getting started.”
My chest tightens at the quiet certainty in his voice.
Like protecting us isn’t a burden.
It’s a promise.
A few minutes later he brings the plate over and sets it down in front of me.
Golden grilled cheese sandwich.
Cut diagonally.
“You need to eat.”
“I might throw up.”
“Then eat slow.”
A reluctant smile pulls at my lips.
