Blaze’s grin goes wide. “Too late.”
The room falls into another wave of laughter, and I feel myself relax into it, piece by piece.
I’m not pretending anymore. I’m not sitting here like an outsider waiting to be dismissed. The women don’t treat me that way. The men don’t either, though they’re different about it. More careful. Aware of Cobra’s presence. Aware of the line around me even when he isn’t saying anything. Still, there’s warmth in it. A strange kind of acceptance.
I look around the room at all of them tangled together and think about my family dinner earlier. My mother’s kitchen. My brother’s suspicion. The warm lights. The food. The laughter. Two worlds. Both real. Both mine now, maybe. That thought settles quietly.
Cobra’s thumb moves once against my back. I glance up at him. He’s watching me instead of the room. “You ready?” he asks. Not because he’s bored. Not because he wants to take me away from them. Because he can tell I’m starting to fade.
The ache from my head is back at the edges, and my body feels heavier than it did an hour ago.I nod. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t announce it. Doesn’t make a scene. He just takes my hand and leads me down the first-floor hallway toward his room.
Our room?
The thought slips in before I can stop it. I don’t push it away. His door closes behind us, and the noise from the main room dulls instantly. The quiet here is different now. It doesn’t feel like a cage anymore. It feels like a pause.
Cobra turns the lock, then faces me. The message is still there between us. I see it in the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw hasn’t fully loosened since dinner, the way his eyes have gone darker again.
But before I ask about it, before I let the outside danger take over another moment, I step closer. “I want to say something.”
He goes still. That’s his version of bracing.
I hate that a little. Not him. The fact that he expects words to come with impact. “You don’t have to look like I’m about to shoot you,” I say softly.
His mouth doesn’t move, but something in his eyes flickers. “I don’t know what you’re about to do.”
“I’m going to talk.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
That almost makes me smile. I close the space between us and take his hand, turning it over in mine. His knuckles are rough. Scarred. Strong. Hands made for violence, for work, for holding me carefully even when the rest of him looks like he was built to destroy. “My family liked you,” I say.
His expression shifts slightly. “Your brother didn’t.”
“My brother doesn’t like anyone immediately. That means nothing.”
“He wanted to hit me.”
“You wanted to hit him.” He doesn’t deny it. I squeeze his hand lightly. “But you didn’t.”
“Because you touched me.” The honesty of that lands deep.
I look up at him. “That’s what I mean.” His brows draw together faintly. “You adjusted,” I say. “You were uncomfortable. I know you were. I saw you checking doors and windows and exits like my mother’s dining room was a battlefield.”
“It was too open.”
“It’s a house.”
“That doesn’t make it safe.”
I nod slowly. “I know. I’m learning that.” His face tightens. I step closer, enough that our bodies almost touch. “But you stayed. You tried. You sat at that table with my family because I asked you to.”
His gaze stays locked on mine. “I’d do more than sit at a table for you.”
“I know.” And I do. That’s the thing. I know exactly how far he’d go. Maybe not every detail. Maybe not the full depth. But enough. Enough to understand that Cobra doesn’t love gently. He loves like a locked door. Like a blade. Like a promise made in blood whether anyone sees it or not. “I want you to know something,” I say. His hand tightens around mine. “You are my future.”
The words hit the room with more force than I expected. His body goes completely still. Not tense. Not pulling away. Just still.
