The tension coiled in the floorboards.
The static in the air before a storm.
Something was coming.
Even if no one said it aloud.
Wrecker hadn’t left my side.
He was quieter today, more intense. Every room I walked into, he was already there or seconds behind. Every locked door got a second check. Every hallway got a scan before I stepped foot inside.
He didn’t speak much, but his body did.
The heat of him at my back.
The rough brush of his knuckles down my arm when he thought I wasn’t looking.
The twitch of his jaw every time someone got too close.
When I reached for a plate in the kitchen, he was there before me pulling it down like I couldn’t manage it myself.
When I moved to refill the first aid bins, he stepped in like the bandages might attack.
And when I crouched to toss a treat to Smoke, Wrecker’s hand landed on my lower back, fingers curling just enough to stake a silent claim.
“You’re hovering,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
His brow lifted. “Damn right I am.”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest ached in that soft, dangerous way.
The way that said I could get used to this.
Used to him.
We’d all been operating on adrenaline since the ambush. None of us had come down yet. The bruises were still fresh. The rage still simmering.
But I was trying.
Trying to reclaim something that looked like normal.
I helped in the kitchen, even if Ariel muttered that I chopped vegetables like a serial killer.
I sorted gauze and saline packets with Doc, who gave me quiet nods of approval and let me pretend I was helpful.
I studied maps with Ranger and learned the difference between a good line of sight and a death trap.
I fed Smoke bacon straight from the pan and kissed his dumb, wet nose.
I moved through the day like I was piecing myself back together one second at a time.
Wrecker was the constant.
My shadow. My heat.
My protector.
When the sun dipped low, casting long gold streaks through the windows, I stepped outside to the back steps. Just for a breath of air. Just to be alone.
