I hate how much it comforts me.
Because it makes me feel safe… and I know nothing is safe.
I tug my coat tighter and try to steady my breathing.
“You sure you want to do this?” Harper asked earlier, holding Aidan like he’d been born in her arms.
Aidan’s sleepy and warm and safe right now. Poppi is babbling beside him, completely unaware that the adults around her are gearing up to hunt monsters.
Harper’s face had been gentle, but her eyes were serious. She understood what this costs.
I told her yes. Because if I don’t do this, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering if I failed Sophie.
Gavin steps in front of me now, blocking my view of the SUVs, his gloved hands settling on my arms.
His touch is firm, grounding. “Hey,” he says quietly.
I blink up at him. “Hey.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.” I say it automatically, stubbornly, even though my teeth are literally chattering.
His mouth twitches. “You’re shaking.”
“Okay. Fine.” I blow out a breath. “I’m shaking.”
His gaze softens. Not weak. Not pitying. Just…there.“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’m not proving anything,” I whisper. “I’m… taking my life back.”
His jaw tightens like my words hit something deep. He leans in, forehead brushing mine for a second—too intimate for a yard full of armed men, but I don’t care. “I’m going to keep you safe,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens. “I know.”
He pulls back enough to look into my eyes. “Listen to me. When we get to the site, you stay in the SUV. Doors locked. No matter what. No matter who you see. No matter what you hear.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Say it,” he insists, voice harder now—the commander voice.
“I will stay in the SUV. I will lock the doors. I won’t open them for anyone. No matter what.”
His eyes hold mine like he’s imprinting the vow into my skull. “Good.” He kisses my forehead again—quick, rough, like he can’thelp himself—then turns and motions me toward the second vehicle.
Chase catches my eye as I pass. “Hey, Kayley.”
I pause.
He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “When this is over, you’re officially one of us. We’ll throw you a welcome party. It’ll be lame, because Boyd doesn’t dance, but still.”
Boyd, without looking up from the gear case, rumbles, “I dance.”
Chase blinks. “You do not.”
Boyd shrugs. “I can.”
I let out a laugh—thin, shaky—but it helps. It reminds me these men are human. That they’ve built something real here. That I’m not walking into this alone.
