“From everything I’ve seen since the rescue, you and Dane are very close now,” Grandad says. “Closer than most siblings, I’d say.”
He has no idea.
“We are.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Whatever happened before—it’s behind you now. That’s what matters. Family is important, Charlotte. It’s everything.”
“It is.”
Dane is everything to me.
I love him.
I want him.
And nothing said here changes that.
Grandad went to bed early,like he hit his limit and stopped. I heard his door close about an hour ago.
I sit on the bed and let my mind drift somewhere I never really expected it would have to go.
The future.
We didn’t plan for one. Not really. Rescue was an idea, not something you could build around. Everything beyond that was too uncertain, too far away to shape into anything real.
Now we’re here, and I realize we don’t have a plan for this part.
I left school in Year Five. Dane in Year Six. That’s it.
Fourteen years of surviving doesn’t translate into any kind of formal education this world understands. The things we learned out there don’t count for much here.
I think about jobs, qualifications, and the way people move through life with something solid under them. We don’t have that, and I can feel the gap.
My mind drifts back to what Grandad said this morning. It’s been sitting there all day, settling into place.
The house. The estate. Maintained. Yours.
That changes things. We’re not starting from nothing. We’re stepping into something already built. A house that’s been kept for us. Money that’s been sitting there, waiting.
It’s not excitement. Relief, maybe. Or something close to it—like finally having solid ground under my feet.
We’re going to be okay. And I can’t wait to tell him.
There’s a knock at the door, and I know it’s Dane before I even fully register the sound.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and he steps inside. He crosses the room without slowing—no hesitation, no distance—and pulls me into his arms. I go willingly, like there was never another option.
I press my face into his neck and breathe him in—really breathe him in—like something inside me has been waiting for this all day. His arms come around me, and I hold on tight.
“I missed you,” I say, my voice muffled against his skin.
“I missed you too.”
He was only gone twelve hours.
Half a day. That’s all it was.
