"Sunk cost fallacy."
Kearan's eyes widened a bit.
"Just because you've invested feelings and pain in something that seems like it didn't work out, doesn't mean you need to keep investing in it." I reached across the table and took his hand. Not the scarred one. The other one. Palm to palm, fingers intertwining with his. "Yes, I know it is usually for business or projects, but the same thing can be applied to relationships. I don't know the situation so it may not even apply, but why keep investing hurt and energy into something that's tearing you up inside?"
He stared at our joined hands, something complicated moving across his face. For a moment, I thought he might pull away. Instead, his fingers tightened around mine, holding on like I was a lifeline thrown into dark water.
"That's why I eventually cut my mother out of my life. She acted like I owed her every moment of my time, every aspect of my life. And for a long time, I gave her exactly what she wanted, even if it meant chipping away at myself until there was an empty shell left. And even that wouldn't satisfy her. I'd given her everything as some kind of cosmic repayment for my conception, birth, and rearing, but it was never enough for her."
We sat like that, hands linked across the table, silence wrapping around us. Not uncomfortable now. Just quiet. The kind of quiet that comes when words have done all they can and touch has to carry the rest.
The door opened softly behind me. I didn't need to turn to know who it was. Grayson's presence brushed against my mind, gentle as always, asking permission before fully connecting.
He crossed the kitchen without a word, pulling out the chair beside Kearan. Grayson didn't seem surprised to find us here, hands linked across the table. He probably felt me wake through our bond. Felt Kearan's distress too, in whatever way he sensed such things.
"Couldn't sleep?" Grayson asked, his voice pitched low and intimate.
Kearan didn't answer. Didn't need to. The answer was written in the shadows beneath his eyes, in the pallor of his skin, in the tension still radiating from his shoulders.
Grayson just nodded, accepting the silence as a response. He settled into the chair, close enough that his shoulder brushed Kearan's, offering support without demanding acknowledgment. The three of us sat together in the kitchen's quiet, each lost in our own thoughts, yet somehow connected by the simple fact of being there. Of choosing to stay.
Minutes stretched into an hour. The clock in the hall chimed three. Outside, the wind died down, leaving nothing but stillness and the faint sounds of the compound settling around us. Kearan's breathing deepened, slowed. His body leaned imperceptibly toward Grayson, whose arm came up automatically to steady him.
"He's exhausted," Grayson murmured, voice barely disturbing the quiet. "The Hesolga took more out of him than he's admitting."
I nodded, watching as Kearan's head dropped further, his body finally surrendering to the sleep he'd fought for so long. His hand remained in mine, grip loosening but not letting go even as consciousness slipped away from him.
"Should we move him?" I whispered.
Grayson shook his head. "Not yet. Let him rest while he can."
So we stayed, Grayson and I, keeping vigil as Kearan slept between us, his breathing deep and even for the first time since I'd known him. His weight settled more fully against Grayson's side, head coming to rest on his shoulder. In sleep, the hard lines of his face softened, years falling away to reveal the man beneath the careful control.
Grayson's eyes met mine over Kearan's head, something warm and complicated moving through his expression.
"He's opening up," he said softly, a statement rather than a question.
My thumb moved in small circles against Kearan's palm, a gesture of comfort he probably couldn't feel in sleep, but that I couldn't stop myself from offering, anyway. Grayson's gaze dropped to our joined hands, lingering there. Something flashed behind his eyes… not jealousy, exactly. Something more complex. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition.
"Good," he said finally, the single word carrying more weight than seemed possible.
We fell back into silence after that, the three of us linked together in the quiet kitchen… Kearan's head on Grayson's shoulder, his hand in mine. Connected. A circuit completed.
Outside, the night deepened toward dawn, stars wheeling overhead in their ancient patterns. Inside, we kept our quiet vigil, guarding against whatever nightmares might try to find Kearan in his sleep.
CHAPTER 23
THAT'S... ACTUALLY KIND OF CREEPY.
I awoke with a start, the pre-dawn darkness pressing against my windows like a physical weight. Something had pulled me from sleep… a noise, a shift in the air, a sixth sense honed by years of living with one foot in the supernatural world. My eyes adjusted slowly to the shadows, pulse quickening as they settled on the silhouette standing at the foot of my bed. Not Grayson's lean frame or Kearan's careful posture. This was someone else entirely, someone who hadn't bothered to knock.
"Goddammit, Ro," I hissed, shoving myself upright. "This is the third time this week. Learn what a door is for."
He didn't move, didn't respond to the anger in my voice. Just stood there, a study in predatory stillness, backlit by the weak moonlight filtering through my curtains. The silence stretched between us, heavy with things neither of us was willing to say.
"You did well with the demon," he finally said, each word measured and precise. "Better than I expected."
I blinked, surprise momentarily displacing my irritation. Ro didn't compliment people. He evaluated them, criticized them, occasionally tolerated them, but praise? That wasn't in his vocabulary.
