Ronan
I didn't know what was worse — watching her fall apart, or knowing we helped build the pain she was collapsing under.
She had broken right in front of us.
Eyes wide and wild, chest heaving, her hands shaking so violently I thought she might tear herself open just trying to breathe. And I'd stood there—useless—while Kade picked her up like a whisper and Silas talked her down like a prayer.
Me?
I froze.
Because I'd seen war zones. Real ones. Fire and blood and the kind of screams that live in your ears long after the bodies are gone.
But I'd never seen this.
Not like this.
A girl we spent years keeping at arm's length had finally let us in — just enough to show us what we missed.
And it was more than we deserved.
She slept again after the panic passed.
Kade sat beside her for a while, one hand still loosely around hers. Silas stayed near the foot of the bed, not talking, not joking — just watching her breathe like it meant something.
It did.
Eventually, I left the room.
Too many thoughts. Too many ghosts. I needed air.
I paced the upstairs hallway until the sky outside darkened and the firelight from the rooms bled soft gold under the doors.
When I turned the corner back toward her room, I nearly collided with her.
She was standing barefoot in the hall, hoodie zipped halfway up, her hair falling messy around her face.
She looked… small.
Tired.
But not fragile.
She looked like someone still trying to figure out what she was made of.
"Aeris," I said, stepping back instinctively, hands lifted slightly. "You okay?"
"I couldn't sleep," she murmured. "Every time I closed my eyes, it was like I could feel him again. The basement. The belt. Everything."
I swallowed hard. "You want me to wake the others?"
"No." Her voice was quiet. Final. "Just… could you walk me back to the room?"
I nodded, falling in step beside her without another word.
She didn't speak as we moved. Her breathing was shallow, but steady.
The house groaned softly around us — a whisper of wood and old bones — but she didn't flinch. She was stronger than she looked. Always had been.
At her door, she paused.
Turned to me.
"Will you stay?" she asked. "Just until I fall asleep."
My heart did something stupid in my chest.
I didn't let it show.
I just nodded again. "Yeah. Of course."
She slid back into the bed, curling slightly on her side. I stayed in the chair beside her, elbows on my knees, hands clasped.
The silence between us wasn't heavy.
It was close.
Warm.
Real.
Minutes passed.
Maybe more.
Her breathing slowed.
She shifted once, then again — and her fingers slipped off the edge of the blanket, dangling between us.
I didn't think.
I just moved.
My hand found hers.
Light.
Tentative.
Her fingers twitched.
Then curled around mine.
No words.
No promises.
But something real pulsed between us in that moment.
Something I hadn't let myself want — not for a long, long time.