"Shit-fuck-" I hissed through clenched teeth.
The pain had gone from sharp to throbbing, a deep pulse that travelled up my arm and into my shoulder like a warning siren I couldn't shut off. Blood slid warm down my skin, sticky and relentless, soaking through my sleeve.
I couldn't stop it here.
I couldn't stop for long.
I forced myself to focus, dragging the truck around the back where the trees broke the line of sight from the road. If they were looking for us, they wouldn't see it tucked here. I killed the engine and sat there for half a second longer than necessary, forehead resting against the steering wheel.
Breathe.
I climbed out, grabbed Kade's bag, the crossbow, my bag-everything-and locked the door. My arm shook as I turned back toward the house.
I glanced at the truck once more and let out a weak, disbelieving laugh.
I actually did it.
Then my eyes dropped to the basement door.
The lock was… gone.
My stomach dropped so hard it felt like the ground vanished beneath me.
"No," I breathed.
I dropped everything and ran.
I didn't feel the pain anymore, only the pounding in my ears as I took the steps two at a time, bursting into the basement.
"Kade?" My voice echoed back at me, too loud, too empty.
The couch was bare.
Blanket on the floor.
No blood. No sound. No movement.
Nothing.
My heart started to race, each beat heavier than the last, crushing against my ribs.
"Kade?" I said again, quieter now.
Still nothing.
My fists clenched at my sides.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
My mind spiraled fast and vicious, images slamming into me one after another. Him dragged out. Him waking up alone. Him trying to find me and getting cornered. Him dead somewhere in the dark because I wasn't here.
Or worse.
I dragged my hands up into my hair, nails digging into my scalp as I forced myself to breathe.
No. Don't do this. Think.
There's no blood. No signs of a fight. He could've-
A sound.
Soft.
Behind me.
Every instinct in my body detonated.
I spun, sword already in my hands, blade slicing through the air in a clean arc-and froze.
Blue eyes.
Wide.
Familiar.
"Nyx-"
I stopped inches from his throat.
My breath hitched so violently it hurt.
For one split second we just stared at each other, both frozen in the aftermath of almost becoming something irreversible.
Then everything crashed back in at once.
Relief. Rage. Fear. Shock.
I dropped the sword.
Before I could think, he was there-hands on me, pulling me in hard enough that it knocked the air from my lungs.
I didn't hug him back.
My body didn't know what to do with the fact that he was real. Warm. Breathing.
Then I shoved him.
Hard.
"What the fuck are you doing up?!" I yelled, my voice cracking with something I didn't want to name. "You scared the shit out of me!"
He stumbled back half a step, eyes flicking over me-then stopping.
On my arm.
Blood dripped steadily onto the floor.
His entire posture changed.
"Sit," he said.
Not loud. Not angry.
Controlled.
It sent a chill straight down my spine.
"I'm fine," I snapped. "It went through-"
"Nyx." Sharp. Final. "Sit. Down."
I opened my mouth to argue.
The room tilted, pain slammed back in full force, stealing my breath. My knees buckled just enough for him to notice.
I hated that.
He guided me to the table without another word, shoving weapons and tools aside in one efficient sweep. The first aid kit was in his hands before I even registered him moving.
"You're bleeding all over my floor," he muttered.
"Your floor?" I scoffed weakly. "Didn't hear you pay rent."
He cut my sleeve away carefully, exposing the wound.
"Fuck," I hissed.
"Hold still."
"I went back because you were unconscious," I snapped, words tumbling out now that the fear had nowhere else to go. "You don't get to-"
"You shouldn't have gone alone."
"There it is," I shot back. "I knew you'd-"
"You shouldn't have gone alone," he repeated, slower this time. "Because I woke up and you were gone."
That stopped me cold.
His hands paused against my skin.
"I thought they got you," he said quietly. "Or that you were dead somewhere in the dark because I couldn't get up fast enough, this is fucking why I say we stick together otherwise what's the point?"
My chest tightened painfully.
"I got the car," I said instead. "I saved your ass. Again."
"I know," he replied.
He cleaned the wound, wrapped it tight, jaw clenched like he was holding something back. When he finished, he leaned back-and we were suddenly too close.
Breathing the same air.
Adrenaline still humming. Fear still fresh.
It felt like the world stalled.
Even my thoughts scattered the moment his hand lifted toward my mask.
He didn't rush it.
He paused, searching my face, his blue eyes steady on mine-waiting. Asking without words.
I didn't stop him.
That terrified me.
The mask slid down slowly, cool air brushing skin that hadn't felt exposed in years. The last barrier between me and the world disappeared into his hands.
My protection.
Gone.
Why didn't I stop him?
His thumb traced my face with care-not skirting around it, not pretending it wasn't there. From the bridge of my nose, down along the deep scar carved into my skin, ending near my cheek.
My stomach twisted.
No.
No, no, no.
Now he sees it.
Now he knows.
The ugly truth I kept hidden.
I lifted my hands, panic surging, but he caught them gently and lowered them again, not restraining, just grounding.
One tear slipped free before I could stop it.
He brushed it away like it didn't matter. Like I didn't need to hide.
My breath stuttered when his fingers traced my lips.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
He wasn't disgusted or shocked.
Concerned.
His hand was still on my face, warm, steady, like he was anchoring me without meaning to. Making the world feel too quiet all of a sudden.
I could feel his breath. Count it, even. The way his thumb rested near my scar, not avoiding it, not tracing it anymore either. Just… like he's accepting it.
"You're not broken," he said softly.
That did it.
Something inside me gave way-my chest tightened and my vision blurred.
I leaned closer before I could think.
My hands caught in his shirt, my breath tangled with his.
I leaned in.
Just a little.
Close enough that our noses brushed.
His hand tightened slightly at my jaw, not pulling me in but stoppping me.
"This," he said quietly, voice rough, "would be a mistake."
The words hit harder than rejection.
I swallowed, forcing the edge back into my voice.
"You always stop right before the bad decisions?"
He rested his forehead against mine, eyes closing briefly.
he didn't say anything.
I laughed under my breath sharp, defensive.
"Relax," I said, pushing him back so I could jump down, "I wasn't planning on falling apart."
His eyes opened again, darker now, "Good. Neither was I."
Silence settled between us-heavy, charged.
I pulled my mask back into place, armor sliding on like muscle memory.
"Nothing changes," I said.
"Nothing," he agreed.
I turned away before he could see my face.
It shouldn't have mattered.
It didn't change anything.
So why did disappointment settle heavy in my chest anyway?