Page 153 of Hymns of the Broken

So they do. They tell me about the time Ash got banned from a bowling alley in Tulsa, about Jace’s disaster of a haircut, about Silas nearly getting them all arrested in Memphis because he thought he could outrun a cop car on foot. Every story, every bit of laughter, layers over the fear in my chest, replacing it with something warm and almost normal.

I drift on the sound of their voices—soft laughter, half-remembered stories, the rumble of Jasper’s chest and Riot’s gentle teasing. Every minute, the weight pressing on me grows lighter, their warmth melting into my skin until my eyes just…close.

I barely register Jasper’s hand smoothing my hair, or the way Riot’s fingers trace lazy lines up my arm. The world fades out, my breathing slows, and for the first time in ages, I let myself fall. Safe, held, wanted.

JASPER

Sawyer’s breathing shifts—slow and deep, the kind you only get when you finally let go. I feel her body go limp against me, her head tucked under my chin. Riot meets my gaze over her shoulder, eyes soft but lined with worry.

“She’s out,” Riot whispers, voice barely more than a breath.

I nod, brushing a thumb over the back of her hand. “She needed it.”

For a while, we listen to her sleep, the house unusually quiet, the chaos pressed to the edges of the night. I can feel the worry gnawing at both of us, even now.

Riot’s voice is low, serious. “You think whoever’s after her is gonna back off? Even with all of us here?”

I shake my head. “No. Whoever it is—they’re careful. Smart. If they had wanted to scare her, they had already done so. If they want something worse…” I can’t finish the sentence, jaw tight.

Riot sighs, rubbing his eyes. “We gotta be enough. For her. You and me, all of us. I’ll sleep on the fucking floor if I have to.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” I whisper, a slight smirk flickering and fading. “But yeah.She’ll never be alone again.”

We both fall quiet, eyes on the girl between us—her, finally at peace, just for a little while.

Riot leans in, voice almost a promise. “We got her, Reign. No matter what.”

I nod, pressing a kiss to Sawyer’s hair, the vow settling into my bones. “No matter what.”

And as the darkness closes in around us, I swear I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone hurt her again.

I’m just drifting, the quiet settling heavy and warm around us, when a soft knock taps against the door. Sawyer stirs, but doesn’t wake—her breathing stays deep and even.

The door opens a crack, and Silas steps in, careful not to turn on the light. He surveys the scene—me wrapped around Sawyer, Riot pressed close on her other side—and a slow, crooked grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, look at this,” he whispers, eyebrows raised. “Never thought I’d see the day you let someone else in your bed, little brother. Especially with Riot’s ugly mug on your pillows.”

Riot just flips him off, mouthing, “You wish you looked this good, old man.”

Silas chuckles, the sound a rare bit of ease in the heavy room. “Don’t mind me. I just wanted to give you an update before I crash. No news yet. Micah’s still digging, but whoever’s messing with us—they’re damn good. Or just lucky. I’ll keep checking in with the security team.”

His eyes linger on Sawyer, softening a little. “You guys good in here?”

I nod, brushing a thumb over Sawyer’s shoulder. “We got her.”

Silas gives a slight, approving nod. “Good. Keep it that way.” Then, to Riot, “Try not to drool on my brother’s sheets. It’s hard enough getting him to do laundry.”

He slips back out; the door clicking softly behind him, leaving the quiet and the warmth and the steady breathing of the girl we’re both fighting for.

I settle back in, arms tightening around Sawyer, the tension a little lighter with Silas’s check-in. For now, we hold her safe. For now, it’s enough.

SAWYER

I wake up tangled in warmth, spooned between two sleeping men—Jasper’s chest solid against my back, Riot’s arm draped heavy and sure across my waist. For a minute, I just lay there, eyes half-open, listening to the quiet rise and fall of their breathing. The world feels still. Safe. Their bodies are heat and comfort, and I let myself savor it, not moving, not wanting to break the spell.

But it never lasts. My mind wakes up before the rest of me does—spinning with what-ifs, worst-case scenarios, a dozen possibilities popping like static in my brain. What if the stalker gets closer? What if this safety is an illusion? What if I mess everything up?

My chest tightens before I even realize it. My breathing quickens, fingers digging into Riot’s forearm where it’s wrapped around me, as if I can anchor myself to him.