He nods, suddenly serious. “You can nap.”
She glances between the three of us, then back at the bedroom. “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”
“You’re taking the bed,” Jax says. Not a suggestion. A fact.
She nods and disappears into Callum’s room, closing the door softly behind her.
The three of us stand in the kitchen, staring at the closed door.
Callum breaks the silence first. “So. We’re really doing this.”
I stare at him.
Jax doesn’t say anything. He just drinks his water and stares at that door like he can see through it.
And I realize we’re all thinking the same thing.
We’re not letting her go back.
Not to that house. Not to that man.
Over our fucking dead bodies.
Chapter Ten: Jax
Ten minutes pass. Maybe fifteen. It’s too long either way.
I knock on Callum’s bedroom door with a soft two taps.
Nothing.
I wait another beat, then turn the handle slowly. The door opens without a sound.
I see her unmoving on the bed. It unfurls the dread in my chest. She’s asleep, curled slightly on her side, her sweater twisted around her ribs like she tried to get comfortable and gave up halfway. Her hair spills across the pillow in dark waves, and her breathing is slow. Even. Deep.
Relief hits me first. Clean and simple.
She’s safe. She’s sleeping. That’s good.
I should leave, close the door, and give her privacy.
Instead, I lean against the doorframe and watch her.
She looks so small in Callum’s bed. The comforter swallows her frame, and her hands are tucked under her chin. The room is quiet with her in it—a different kind of quiet. Not empty but settled.
My mind drifts back to the guest bedroom. The way she flinched when Zephyr and I touched her. The way her voice cracked when she said her dad went to Elle’s. The way she looked at me when she said, “I never want to go back.”
The rage pulses again. Low and controlled, but it’s there.
I breathe through it.
I can’t lose control. She’d never forgive me if I did. And I’d never forgive myself.
Sounds filter in from the rest of the house. Callum moving around in the kitchen. The creak of the couch springs—Zephyr sitting down. Pipes clicking somewhere in the walls. A car passes outside, tires hissing on pavement.
Ordinary sounds.
They feel too normal for what’s happening. Like the world doesn’t know it should stop and hold its breath for this girl.
