Page 37 of Blackwood

“Speak for yourself,” Zeke says.

I smile, a little real this time. The tension’s still in my chest, but it’s duller now. Wrapped in sarcasm and firelight and the kind of silence that feels earned.

“Alright,” Mr. Acronym says after a long sip. “We’ll finish the full report in the morning. He gets up, stretching like a cat, and disappears down the hall.

Tex pushes to his feet with a grunt. “Don’t touch my bourbon, Zeke.”

Zeke flips him off.

Tex winks at me as he passes. “You did good, kid.”

Zeke doesn’t move. Just watches the flames.

“Go to bed,” he says without looking at me.

“I’m not tired.”

“Yeah, you are. Your bones just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“I’m not tired.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, “Are you okay?”

I look up. Meet his eyes. And there it is, beneath the sarcasm and scars, the firelight and shadows. My brother. Not the fighter. Not the hacker. Just Zeke.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

He nods once like that’s an answer he understands. “That’s fair.”

For a second we just sit there. No noise. Just this strange, heavy quiet that wraps around the edges of everything we don’t say.

He tilts his head toward the staircase and says, “Get some sleep. I’ll be here.”

I stand slowly, the blanket slipping off my shoulders.

“If you need me… don’t knock. Just come in.”

I take a few steps toward the stairs before I stop. “Zeke?”

He looks up from the fire, eyes shadowed and quiet. Waiting.

“I need to ask you something.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shifts in his seat.

I swallow. “Can I see him?”

His jaw tenses. Just slightly. But it’s enough.

“You know who I mean.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

I step closer. “Please.”

He stands and crosses the room until he’s just in front of me. Not looming. Just an unmovable wall of safety he always becomes when things go sideways.

“No,” he says gently. “Not yet.”