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I keep my hand on Arliss’s thigh the whole ride back, stroking lazy, grounding circles with my thumb. Her head rests against my chest, and I can feel her finally start to relax—like she trusts me to carry this weight now.

And gods, I will.

Tonight I learned what real fear is.

It’s not pain.

It’s not war.

It’s not death.

It’s the emptiness of a future without her in it.

It’s the moment I saw her tied to that altar—my Arliss—bloodied and gagged like she was nothing more than a vessel to be used and discarded.

That was fear.

That was hell.

And I never want to feel it again.

But I would.

A thousand times. A million.

If it means I get to keep her.

If it means she stays safe.

If it means she stays mine.

The tires crunch the gravel outside our cabin, and Zeke parks without a word. He gives me a look as I climb out, one that says I got you, man, and I nod my thanks. He doesn’t follow us inside.

Good.

Because now it’s just us.

Inside, I settle her gently on the couch. She winces a little, and I growl low at the thought of her still being in pain, but she grabs my hand and pulls me down beside her.

“Kian,” she whispers.

* * *

“I’m here.” I kiss her knuckles, one by one. “I’ll always be here.”

The silence stretches between us, not awkward, just full.

Heavy with everything unspoken. Everything we haven’t said.

Until now.

I look into her eyes, and I know.

It’s time.

Time for more than promises whispered in the dark.

Time for truth. For choices. For the life we could have. If she still wants it.