“I wanted to.”
She swallows, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth, and the air between us turns thick.
But I keep it light, because she’s fragile and I’m not going to push. “Breakfast?”
She nods, and while she freshens up, I make eggs, toast, and bacon—simple, solid, the kind of meal you can build a day on.
When she sits at the table, she looks human again. Warm. Fed. Alive.
Aidan stirs, and she scoops him up, feeding him while I drink coffee and watch them like I’m imprinting the image into my bones.
After breakfast, I grab the diaper bag and my jacket.
“Where are we going?” she asks, bouncing Aidan gently.
“Back to the main compound,” I say. “Eli wants to check him again. Make sure that fever stays down.”
Her face tightens. “Are we safe to move?”
“We’re safe,” I say, meeting her eyes. “And even if we weren’t, I’d still move you. Staying predictable is how you get caught.”
She studies me for a long second, then nods. “Okay,” she whispers. “I trust you.”
I open the cabin door and let the cold air roll in, and I keep my body angled toward her as we step outside—shielding, watching, ready.
The snow swallows our footprints almost as soon as we make them.
But I know this:
Someone is out there.
Someone is closing in.
And I’m done being the man who loses people.
Not Kayley.
Not Aidan.
Not now.
Not ever.
NINE
KAYLEY
The walk from Gavin’s cabin back to the main compound is short, but it feels… big.
Not because of the snow—though it’s still coming down in soft, steady flakes that make everything look like a postcard. Not because of the cold—because I’m warm for once, wrapped in a thick coat and one of Gavin’s flannels underneath like a secret.
It feels big because I’m walking beside him.
And because last night happened.
Because this morning happened.
Because I keep glancing at him like my brain is trying to make sure he’s still real.
