He watched. Learned. Adjusted his own stance without meaning to, mirroring the way I moved. When our eyes met across the room, there was no worry in his gaze.
Only trust.
Late afternoon, Ranger called it.
“That’s enough for today,” he said. “You’ll feel this tomorrow.”
I already did.
I peeled off the gloves with clumsy fingers, hands trembling from exhaustion. Sweat dripped down my spine. My hair stuck to my face.
And I was smiling.
Wrecker handed me a towel without a word.
I took it. “I didn’t freeze.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I felt it try,” I admitted. “But it didn’t win.”
He studied me for a long moment. “It doesn’t get to anymore.”
That night, I soaked in a hot shower until my muscles loosened and my thoughts quieted. The water beat down on my shoulders, grounding me in sensation instead of memory.
Later, curled up on Wrecker’s bed, I felt the fatigue settle deep and heavy. Not the bone-deep exhaustion of fear.
The earned kind.
He lay beside me, one arm draped over my waist, not holding tight. Just there.
“I’m not done,” I said softly.
He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. “With training?”
“With everything,” I said. “I don’t want to be protected from the world. I want to be able to stand in it.”
He nodded. “Then we do it together.”
I turned into him, resting my forehead against his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Familiar.
For the first time since the elevator, since the warehouse, since everything cracked open, I believed him.
Not because he was strong.
But because I was too.
31
WRECKER
I hated waiting.
After a rescue, after blood, after bringing someone home, the compound always tried to exhale. Like it thought the worst was over. Like it could loosen its grip and let people sleep.
That kind of waiting got people killed.
I stood in the doorway of the tech room and watched Ghost work.
