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“You want to survive?” His voice is low and exact, every word placed like it was measured first. “Then listen when I pull you out of the dark.”

Shadow growls from somewhere behind me—a thin, valiant sound, all heart and no weight—and I point at him with a shaking finger.

“Good morning to you too. I didn’t realize you decided to start the day with an attempted double homicide.”

Something flickers at Malek’s mouth. Just the smallest twitch, like the idea amuses him despite himself.

Then he smiles.

Slow. Dangerous. Earned.

“Find something good about it,” he says. “Get dressed.”

I mutter threats under my breath as I pull the clothes on, the kind of violence that lives safely in my head but still warms my blood. Shadow winds around my legs, half guard dog, half shield, and I can’t tell which one of us he’s trying to protect.

By the time I reach the door, my pulse is loud and hot, awake in a way that feels like it’s searching for somewhere to land.

Malek steps closer, close enough that the rest of the world thins, leaving only the narrow, electric space between us.

Shadow whines.

Malek slowly lifts his hands.

They settle on my shoulders—warm, steady—and the gentleness of it hits harder than the floor did. His touch doesn’t demand anything. It just is, solid and deliberate, his hands sliding up my arms until they rest at the base of my skull.

I go still.

I could step back. I don’t.

He gathers my hair without pulling, without pain. Hooks the elastic off his wrist with his teeth and ties it high and tight, fingers brushing my scalp with a care that feels almost wrong coming from a man like him.

Practical. Corrective. Necessary.

“Hair stays out of your eyes.” His voice is low near my ear, rough enough to scrape. “Always.”

He tugs the knot once. Firm.

Then, softer—softer than the moment deserves, softer than he usually allows⁠—

“Little crow. Hair black as night. Eyes burning indigo.”

The words tilt the world.

I’m eleven again, knees cold against the floor, Scarlett kneeling in front of me with hands that never shook even when everything else was breaking apart. Her voice steady. Her fingers patient as they smoothed my tangled hair back like order could be rebuilt if you started small enough.

Selah Crow, hair black as night…

My throat tightens around the memory.

I turn my face away before he can see it, before whatever that opened in me spills out where it doesn’t belong.

When I look back, whatever slipped through him is already sealed shut.

“Come on.” Whatever slipped through him is already gone, sealed back behind his teeth. “Survival doesn’t care how you feel.”

So, I follow him.

The farmhouse wakes behind us without comment. Boards warm under my boots. The place looks lived in, held together by routine and stubbornness, like my sisters might still exist if I don’t stare too hard at the cracks.