She took a step forward, and I hopped on my uninjured foot, leaning hard into her for support. Another step, then one more. The shift of her body was smooth, each step matched to mine without the smallest jolt.
“I don’t want you thinking I don’t care,” she said, her voice pitched low. “You are our responsibility, and I take that seriously.”
I shook my head before she could finish. “Don’t. It’s fine. I know what this is.” My hand tightened briefly on the fabric at her waist, more to keep from wobbling than to make a point. “You’re doing your job.”
She stopped, the smallest pause shifting her focus entirely to me. Her hand moved from my waist, fingers finding the edge of my jaw, tilting my chin up. Her eyes locked on mine, holding me in place like she’d forgotten herself for a moment. Her eyes were an intense blue, pale in the firelight, holding me there without a word.
I couldn’t look anywhere else.
Her eyes held mine as if letting go would be a mistake. She was too close, too intense, and I wanted her to step away, put space between us, but something else kept me still. The pull was quiet, persistent, and impossible to ignore. I hated it.
"I need to keep you safe," she said, the words low enough that they felt private. "That's what this is, for me. You deserve safety."
The words landed differently than I expected. Notyou need protectionorit's my job."You deserve safety." Like I was worth protecting—not just because of what I knew, but because of who I was. My throat tightened before Icould stop it.
My breath caught in the space after, then came quicker, matching the beat of my pulse. Hers slowed, each inhale and exhale drawing out the moment. Her gaze dipped to my mouth, lingering there before rising again. Without thinking, my chin tilted upward, a small shift that closed the distance between us in a way that felt like permission—or surrender. I wasn't sure which, and I wasn't sure I cared.
The air felt warmer, the light from the fire catching the edge of her jaw. My fingers curled faintly against her hip. Her palm at my waist remained in place, not urging me forward, not letting me go.
The muscles under my hand shifted again, a subtle tightening, like she was holding still for my sake as much as her own. The corner of her thumb pressed lightly into my side, not pushing, not pulling, just enough to remind me it was there.
I wanted to look away, to break the pull between us, but my gaze wouldn’t leave hers. It wasn’t just her eyes. It was the way she held herself, like I’d caught her in a moment she wouldn’t offer to anyone else.
In the kitchen, a cupboard closed, and footsteps crossed tile. The noise might as well have been in another house.
Her gaze flicked down to my mouth again, slower this time, then back up. I thought she might speak, but she didn’t. I became aware of the weight of my hair against my neck, the quick rise and fall of my chest, the steady heat where our bodies touched. Every point of contact seemed sharper, more defined, as if the rest of the world had faded just to make room for this.
I stayed there, caught, waiting to see if she would close the space.
Then the sound of footsteps cut across the room. She let go. The chill left in their absence felt deliberate, like she wanted me to know she’d pulled back on purpose. She didn’t step back, but the focus between us fractured.
A voice followed, edged with dry amusement. “We’re protecting her, Kara, not… whatever that is.”
That voice… so familiar. I turned toward the sound.
A tall woman disappeared into the kitchen just as I did. All I saw was a canvas bag hung from her right shoulder, pulling the muscle taut beneath her sleeve.Another bag swung from her hand, the weight of it shifting as she adjusted her grip.
My mind was playing tricks on me. I needed food and sleep.
I turned back to Kara. Her pale eyes were still on me, and I realized I'd swayed forward slightly when she'd pulled away—my body still reaching for something that was no longer there. I caught myself, straightening, but my lips were still parted, my pulse still racing like I'd been running.
Heat crept into my cheeks before I could stop it. We'd almost—I'd almost let her—
"Sorry," I whispered.
She gave a slight shake of her head, but her eyes darkened for just a second, her gaze dropping to my mouth one more time before she looked away. When she spoke, her voice was carefully even, deliberately practical. "C'mon. You need to eat."
But her hand, when it slid behind my back again, lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.
She slid the other arm under my knees, lifting me once more. The change in position was sudden enough to make me catch my breath, my hands gripping her shoulder on instinct.
The living room blurred slightly at the edges as she turned toward the table. I caught the warm glow from the kitchen and the muted clink of dishes ahead. Her stride was sure, and each step carried us closer to the chair Ellie had pulled out from the table’s side.
Ellie gave a small smile as she stepped back, clearing space. Kara lowered me toward the seat with care, one hand braced at my back until I felt the chair beneath me. My feet found the floor, my injured one resting lightly, toes barely touching.
The cushion was cool from the air in the room, and the pizzas smelled so good. I was starving. Kara’s hands left me, the absence of her support almost as noticeable as the lift had been. I adjusted in the seat, fingers brushing the edge of the table while Ellie slid the chair in to meet it.
I looked up to see the woman who had nodded at me earlier holding out a dark bottle. Her forearms were defined and powerful, with roping muscles that flexed with every movement.
