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“The girl never could follow a simple order to stay put,” Hammer muttered, though I noted the fondness underlying his gruff tone.

He moved to the front door, checking through the peephole before disengaging the three deadbolts we’d installed just yesterday.

For whatever reason, she’d wanted to give us a little space and had gotten permission to use the duplex for a few days.

But I had to wonder if that was her way of slowly moving out on her own and leaving the nest, so to speak.

Aura burst in like a breath of fresh air, her arms laden with grocery bags.

Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, her tattooed arms exposed by her tank top despite the evening chill.

“Food for the troops,” she announced, kicking the door closed behind her.

“And backup chargers, flashlights, first aid kit -- you know, siege essentials.”

The tension in the room eased fractionally at her arrival. Even Chase’s perpetual scowl softened as she thrust a bag into his arms. “Make yourself useful, big guy. These are heavy.”

Levi approached cautiously, his need to help warring with his instinct to stay hidden. Aura solved his dilemma by gently placing a smaller bag in his hands. “This one’s got the tech stuff. Figured you’d want first crack at organizing it.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, but took the bag, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he peeked inside and lifted out what looked like portable battery packs.

I watched this interaction with a mixture of gratitude and fascination.

Aura had a way with my boys that I couldn’t quite explain -- a casualness that bypassed their defenses, an understanding that didn’t demand their trust but somehow earned it anyway.

In the short time since we’d moved in, she’d become something between a sister and daughter to me, and something entirely her own to my sons.

“Perimeter check in fifteen,” Hammer told me, his hand briefly touching my lower back as he passed. “Need to coordinate with the night shift.”

I nodded, unconsciously leaning into his touch. “I’ll help Aura unpack.”

He hesitated, glancing at her with a look that carried entire conversations. “Keep them occupied,” he said, the words casual but loaded with meaning.

“Always do, old man,” she replied with an easy grin that softened the gravity of our situation. “Now go do your thing. We’re fine here.”

Aura herded us all toward the kitchen, distributing bags and assigning tasks with the efficiency of someone used to managing chaos. “Levi, can you sort the batteries? Chase, start unpacking the groceries. Amelia, I think it would be best if we had the leftover chili for dinner tonight.”

We fell into the work, the simple rhythm of domestic tasks creating a bubble of normalcy in the midst of our fortress-like surroundings. After nearly twenty minutes of this strange domesticity, Hammer appeared in the doorway.

I hesitated, looking at my boys. Chase was methodically arranging canned goods in the pantry, his back deliberately turned to the room, while Levi sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through electronic equipment with Aura.

Chase turned and met my gaze briefly, something new in his expression -- not quite trust, but perhaps the seedling of it. Levi seemed more relaxed than he had been all day.

“It’s getting late,” I said, noting the shadows under my youngest’s eyes. “You two should try to get some sleep.”

Surprisingly, neither argued -- another sign of their exhaustion. Chase moved first, his movement triggering Levi’s automatic response to follow. But before they left the kitchen, Chase paused beside Aura.

“Thanks,” he said simply, the word carrying more weight than its single syllable should allow.

Aura reached up, adjusting the collar of his shirt with casual affection. “Anytime, kiddo. That’s what family does.”

The word hung in the air between us all -- family.

Not by blood, not by choice initially, but forged in necessity and slowly, tentatively, becoming something real.

As I watched my boys retreat to their room, I caught Hammer’s gaze across the kitchen.

Even though he’d spent our days together running from any intimacy, we’d somehow still managed to merge our families together into a cohesive unit.

Now if I could just get him on board for the husband side of this relationship.

* * *

Rain pattered against the windows, the gentle rhythm at odds with the harsh reality of armed men patrolling outside.

I sat at the kitchen table across from Hammer, maps of the compound spread between us, his calloused finger tracing potential escape routes while I committed them to memory.

The boys had finally fallen asleep in their bedrooms, Aura had gone to the duplex for the night, and for the first time since the confrontation with Piston, Hammer and I found ourselves truly alone.

“If anything happens, you go out this service exit,” Hammer was saying, his weathered finger tapping a point on the map. “There’s always someone posted here, but they’ll know to let you through. From there, you take this path to the garage in town.”

I leaned closer, my hair falling forward as I studied the route he indicated.

The proximity brought his scent to me -- motor oil, leather, and something distinctly male that I’d come to associate with safety.

Our shoulders brushed, the contact sending a current of awareness through me despite the seriousness of our conversation.

“What about the boys?” I asked, voice low though there was no need to whisper. “Chase would never leave me, and Levi --”

“They’ll be with you,” he assured me, his finger sliding to another position on the map. “Viking knows to get them if I can’t. He’ll bring them to this meeting point.” His hand shifted, accidentally covering mine where it rested on the table. Neither of us moved to break the contact.

“You’ve thought of everything,” I murmured, not moving my hand from beneath his.

He grunted softly. “That’s the job.” After a pause, he added more quietly, “That’s my promise to you.”

The simple declaration hung in the air between us, weighted with meanings neither of us had fully acknowledged yet.

My gaze lifted from the maps to his face, studying the lines that years had carved around his eyes.

He’d removed his cut hours ago, wearing just a worn black T-shirt that revealed the strength still present in his arms despite his age.

Rain drummed harder against the windows, the sound creating a cocoon of isolation around us. Outside, men patrolled with guns, planning violence against those who’d threatened us. Inside, this small bubble of quiet felt almost sacred -- a moment of stillness in the chaos our lives had become.

“I’m afraid,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “Not for me. For them. Chase is so angry all the time, waiting for the next threat. And Levi -- he tries to make himself invisible, like if no one notices him, no one can hurt him.”

Hammer’s hand tightened over mine. “They’re survivors. Like their mother.”

“I’m no survivor,” I argued softly. “I stayed with him for years. Let him hurt them, hurt me. A survivor would have --”

“Would have what?” Hammer interrupted, his gaze holding mine. “Left with nothing? No money, no protection, no plan? With two kids depending on you?” He shook his head. “You did leave. When you could. That’s what matters.”

His understanding -- so different from the judgment I’d been carrying against myself for years -- made my throat tighten. “What if it wasn’t soon enough? What if they’re too damaged to ever feel safe?”

“They’re not damaged,” he said firmly. “They’re adapting. Learning who to trust. How to live without constant threat.” His free hand reached across the table, hesitating before brushing a strand of hair from my face. “It takes time.”

The gentle touch, so at odds with his gruff exterior, broke something open inside me. “I can’t lose them,” I whispered, my greatest fear finally given voice. “If Piston takes them --”

“He won’t,” Hammer stated, the certainty in his voice absolute. “I swear it, Amelia. He will never touch those boys again. Never touch you again.”

His hand still cupped my cheek, warm and calloused against my skin. All the tension that had been building since our brief kitchen kiss -- the distance he’d maintained, the careful space between us in bed -- seemed to crystallize in this moment of vulnerability.

I didn’t know which of us moved first. Maybe both. One moment we were near enough to touch, yet not, and the next his lips were on mine, his beard tickling my skin as his mouth claimed me with surprising gentleness.

The kiss was nothing like our first hesitant contact in the kitchen.

This was deliberate, hungry, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck, holding me to him as if afraid I might pull away.

I gripped his shirt, the worn cotton bunching in my fingers as I kissed him back with all the fear and need and gratitude I couldn’t put into words.

“Amelia,” he murmured against my lips, my name a question and a prayer.

“Yes,” I answered, though he hadn’t actually asked. “Please.”

The table between us became an unbearable obstacle. Hammer stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he pulled me to my feet and back into his arms. His body was solid against mine, stronger than his age would suggest, his hands spanning my waist as he backed me against the kitchen counter.

Our kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against mine, drawing a sound from me I hadn’t made in years -- a hungry whimper that seemed to fuel his own desire. His hands didn’t wander, didn’t grab or take, but held me with a careful restraint that made me want to break his control.

“The boys,” I gasped against his mouth, remembering where we were.

“Sleeping,” he reminded me between kisses.