“Dungar?” Her voice echoed quietly in the darkness.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for letting me stay here with you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” I turned onto my side, facing her shadowy form. “I like having you here.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“The way you prepare for bed, the checking and organizing. How long have you done that?”
Most people asked that question with barely concealed impatience or concern, as if my routines were something to be fixed or overcome. But Riley’s tone held only curiosity.
“Since I was a youngling,” I said. “Maybe six or seven years old.”
“Did everyone understand it?”
“My family eventually did, but… Others were not as kind. Some younglings used to call me ‘Dungar the Counter’ because I had to touch certain things a specific number of times before I could move on. They’d watch me straighten papers in the learning center and make bets on how long it would take before I was satisfied with their placement.”
Her hand sought mine beneath the covers, intertwining our fingers together. “Kids can be cruel.”
“They weren’t trying to be mean, I don’t think. It made them uncomfortable when I couldn’t stop myself from needing everything to be a certain way.” I squeezed her hand. “My aunt Inla was the first to understand that it wasn’t defiance or stubbornness on my part. She told my parents it was how my mind worked, and that fighting it would only make it worse.”
“She’s wise.”
“She is. She helped me see that there were good parts too, not only the parts I wanted to forget. My attention to detail makes me excellent at my job. It helps me notice things others miss. The routines give me peace when everything else feels like a mess.”
Riley shifted closer, her warmth radiating against my side. “I think your precision is one of your most attractive qualities. You make me feel safe in a way I’ve never experienced before.”
The thread of old pain in her voice made my protective instincts flare. “What happened to make safety feel so rare?”
She was quiet for so long I thought she might not answer. When she finally spoke, her words came out careful. “I made some mistakes in my old life. Trusted the wrong people, got involved in situations that went badly.” Her fingers tightened around mine. “Sometimes the people who are supposed to protect you are the ones you need protection from most.”
The neutral way she spoke told me there was so much more to the story, layers of hurt and fear she wasn’t ready to share. I wanted to press, to demand she tell me everything so I could fix it, eliminate whatever threat still haunted her. But I’d learned that pushing someone to reveal their wounds before they were ready only drove them further away.
“You can trust me, Riley,” I said. “Whatever you’re running from, whatever you’re afraid of, you’re not alone anymore.”
She was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, thick emotion came through in her voice. “I know that. I do. I’m just…not quite ready. Can you be patient with me?”
“As long as you need.”
Her breathing gradually deepened and evened out, telling me she’d fallen asleep. But I stayed awake, listening to the soft sounds she made, the way she murmured something unintelligible in her dreams.
Whatever secrets she carried, whatever danger she was hiding from, I would keep her safe. The thought settled deep in my bones, a truth that would guide every decision I made going forward.
Riley Smith had wandered into my life and turned everything upside down in the best possible way. Now all I had to do was convince her to stay.
I finally drifted off sometime after midnight, listening to the sound of her breathing and savoring the way her hand still held mine beneath the covers.
Chapter 13
Riley
Three days into living with Dungar, and I’d discovered something surprising about myself. I thrived on structure. His meticulously organized home, with its labeled containers and color-coded systems, was the most relaxing space I’d inhabited in years. Where I’d once seen my ability to adapt to chaos as a strength, now I found comfort in knowing exactly where everything belonged.
“Two eggs or three?” Dungar asked, standing at the stovetop in a pair of dark sleep pants and a soft-looking gray t-shirt that stretched magnificently across his broad shoulders. Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, highlighting his green skin.
