“Good.”
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
“And Destiny?”
“Yes?”
His gaze softened by almost nothing.
But almost nothing from Cal was a lot.
“Mandy burned because she liked watching other people catch. You burned because you were hurting and drugged and seventeen. Don’t confuse the two.”
The words struck so hard I couldn’t answer.
Regan’s hand tightened around mine.
Skye looked down.
Cal left before I could cry again, which was probably kind of him.
I stared at the ceiling.
Outside the window, morning spread over the ranch, bright and clean and rude enough to arrive after the worst night of my life like the world had not noticed I ruined myself.
Regan brushed her thumb over my knuckles.
“Sleep, baby.”
I closed my eyes.
For once, I listened.
But right before I slipped under, I heard Dylan outside the door, low and steady, telling Nate to keep watch on the north trail.
My heart gave one tired, foolish kick.
Safe, I thought.
Then, quieter, deeper, truer:
Free.
And for the first time, I wondered if maybe I didn’t have to choose between the two.
Sleep was supposed to feel like sinking.
That was what people always said, wasn’t it? That sleep pulled you under. That it wrapped around your bones and dragged you somewhere soft, somewhere quiet, somewhere your body could stitch itself back together without asking permission from your brain.
But I wasn’t asleep.
I was floating just under the surface of it, my body heavy, my throat dry, my arm aching where the IV had been taped down, my skin still humming with whatever poison had been pushed through my system and whatever medicine had been used to drag me back out of it.
The room smelled like antiseptic, leather, old wood, coffee, and men trying not to panic.
I kept my eyes closed.
That was the only smart thing I had done in days.
