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“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Oh these,” my mom crowed as she unpacked the noodles. “Remember how much we loved these when we were stuck here? The beef was my favorite.”

When we were stuck here.

She said it so casually, like she didn’t hold the symbol of my trauma in her hand. Tully’s purr softened to a comforting whisper. I cracked open, and with my mom and my love, something sparked. In the leap of my heartbeat, I let go of the bag and some of the terror bled out.

Tully’s soft laughter brought me back. “Lloyd showed me how to read some marks.”

She’d helped me walk through The Barracks, saying nothing about my trembling limbs and clammy grip. It was cathartic and I was drained and exhilarated at the same time.

“Remember this?” Tully flashed me the first page of her journal she’d ever shown me and her expression was so open it made my breath catch in my throat.

Everyone froze, stunned by her simple joy. I knew I wasn’t the only one balancing on the thread of this moment.

“How could I forget?” I reached out and dragged the journal closer. “This makes me happy.”

It was her mood tracker for that month. Filled with different shades of pink, peach, and yellow.

She’d been happy. Excited. I knew it wasn’t as bright now, but I hoped without hope that we’d get back there.

“It was a good time.” Tully closed the journal and stood.

“It can be that way again,” Ajax said as she got out of her chair.

My heart sank. She prepared to run, as if she thought there was supposed to be distance between us. She chewed on her bottom lip, the silence an answer. But then I thought about what I accomplished this afternoon, and how it felt to shed something that had haunted me for years.

“Can I show you something?” I held my breath.

Her scent trailed as she accompanied me, happy for an excuse to turn her back on the disappointed pack.

“What’s up?”

I walked to my bedroom and opened the cupboard, dizzy from my forceful heartbeat. The shelves were no longer stacked with boxes of noodles. I was afraid to look at Tully, especially when I heard her sharp inhale.

“Your noodles?” The question in her voice was curious, not judging.

“I cleared them out when we got back from The Barracks.”

“Why?”

I laughed. It was vulnerable. Tully could tear me down the middle with a misplaced word right now. I pushed through the squirming fear in my stomach.

“I don’t want to live in the past anymore, Tully. Where fear ruled my decisions. What happened—” My sharp exhale hurt. “I still feel it in my bones. The stockpile kept me feeling safe, but it also held me back. I want to put my trust in something real.”

I turned with a wince, unsure what I’d find. Tully covered her mouth with trembling fingers. Her chest moved unsteadily.

Say something, I urged her.Anything. Don’t leave me hanging out here on my own. My skin crawled with the need to hide. My eyes stung from the salt-blasted scent filling the room.

“I’m not perfect,” I joked. “I still kept one box, but it’s a start.”

I didn’t have time to finish rambling as Tully wrapped her arms around me. Her grip was unforgiving, and she squeezed until I gasped. Her sweetness canceled out my bitter scent. Made me melt against her. I starved for this, the warmth and scent of Tully.

“Nobody is perfect, Lloyd. But I’m so damn proud of you.” Her voice was muffled. “You have your pack, and your mom. She’s so wonderful and loves you so much.”

My mom, who was determined to fix the rift between us. She’d widened her eyes with meaning when she thought Tully wasn’t looking.

They’d spent the afternoon going through old scrapbooks, their laughter tinkling together.