I’m sitting in the chair beside the bed, elbows braced on my knees, while Lucy is curled up at the end of the bed, drifting in and out of consciousness as she keeps a watchful eye on her favorite person.
I don’t remember what time I got in here.
I don’t remember if I’ve even moved from this position.
I only remember the way the muscles in my body relaxed ever-so-slightly the moment I sat down next to her.
The four of us didn’t think any of them would be stupid enough to come near the house again—not after everything that happened in the woods. However, time and time again, they’re proving brains are not their strong suit.
The alarm system was set, every lock checked twice.
And yet, it still didn’t feel like enough.
So one of us stayed downstairs anyway. We all took turns. A constant presence in the dark, eyes on the house, watching for anything that didn’t belong. Because “unlikely” wasn’t the same as impossible—and none of us were willing to risk it.
Meanwhile, upstairs, we also took turns watching her throughout the night. Terrified that if all of us slept at once, if no one was watching the rise and fall of her chest, she’d slip away quietly.
Every time her breathing hitched, someone moved.
Every time she stilled for too long, someone leaned in.
Lawson stood at the foot of the bed—when he wasn’t on guard downstairs—for hours, arms crossed, eyes locked on her face like he could will her to stay with us by sheer force. Jasper sat on the floor, back against the bed, one hand curled around the blanket draped across his lap as if he were holding on for dear life. Lincoln handled the practical things. Water. Heat. Checking skin. Timing everything down to the minute.
And me?
I watched.
Even when I was supposed to be sleeping, I just stared at her.
And when I was downstairs, I was desperate to return to her.
I’ve never been good at helplessness.
But last night, there was nothing else to do.
Nothing besideswatch.
She shifts in the bed, just a little, a soft sound leaving her throat, and my spine goes rigid until her breathing evens out again. Only then do I let myselfexhale.
“You scared the hell out of us,” I murmur, even though I know she can’t hear me.
Or maybe she can.
There’s a vulnerability to her like this that feels almost sacred. Without her sharp words. Without her curiosity. Without the fire she carries so naturally. Without her stare that sees pieces of me I keep locked so deep that even sometimes I forget they’re there. Strip all of that away, and she’s a woman who’s survived hell, just to almost be sent back there again.
And on our watch.
My eyes trace the smoothness of her skin and the way her hand curls near her face like she always does when she’s deep in sleep, and something twists low in my chest.
Something protective.
Furious.
Reverent.
Footsteps crunch outside beneath the window.
Lincoln.
