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She was gone.

Aftereverything—after the greenhouse, after the bond that felt like it had been stitched into his bones—the entire night and day they spent tangled with each other… she’d left?

He ran a hand through his hair, stood, shoved on jeans and the flannel from the chair, barely registering the chill that clung to the morning air seeping through the cracked window.

The sanctuary was quiet.

He got a hint of something suddenly, mint and willowbark. A trace of yarrow. He followed the scent out back. And there she was.

Curled on the stone bench beneath the arbor, copper kettle perched on the wrought iron brazier, steam curling into the morning like soft ribbon. Her hair was twisted up into a knot, loose strands catching the light like chestnut silk. Her hands moved with slow precision as she stirred the tonic, lips pressed tight in thought.

Relief hit him so hard his knees nearly buckled. But he didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, happy she hadn’t taken off.

Delilah looked up before he spoke, like shefelthim before she saw him.

Her expression softened instantly.

“You okay?” she asked.

He huffed. “Could ask you the same.”

She gave a half-smile. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d make use of it.”

He moved toward her slowly, careful, like he didn’t want to startle the moment.

“You left.”

She winced, just barely. “Notleftleft. Just… needed a second.”

Rollo didn’t sit right away. He watched her stir, watched the way the wind caught the ends of her shawl, how the skin of her neck flushed when she was caught in emotion but trying to look calm.

“Was it too much?” he asked softly.

She stilled. Then shook her head. “No. That’s the thing. It wasn’t too much. It was—” She bit her lip. “It was exactly what I wanted. And that’s what scared me.”

He sat beside her then, close but not crowding, their knees brushing as the kettle bubbled quietly beside them.

“I’m afraid,” she said, voice raw. “Of giving in. Of building something with you again and waking up alone all over again.I know I said that before, but it still is something I can’t just ignore.”

Rollo didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.

He reached for her hand, calloused fingers wrapping around hers with that slow, deliberate warmth he never forced.

“I was scared too,” he said. “Back then. You were everything. Too much. Too real. I thought if I said it out loud—if I called it fate—then I’d have to be someone who wasworthyof it.”

She turned to him, brows drawn. “Youwereworthy.”

“I didn’t believe it,” he said honestly. “I was a half-grown mess of muscle and impulse.” He thought momentarily of how he could have ended up like Garrick. “You had dreams, purpose. I had… a temper and a family name that carried more shadow than pride.”

Delilah’s shoulders dropped a fraction, like something inside her had let go just a little.

“And now?” she asked, barely more than a whisper.

“Now I’m still a mess,” he said, smiling slightly. “But I know what I want. And I know what I’m willing to fight for.”

She let his words settle.

The kettle hissed.