Page 31 of Thunder's Reckoning

“You don’t have to check on me,” she muttered.

“I don’t do nothin’ I don’t wanna do,” I said. “Now, you gonna answer my question?”

Silence stretched out, heavy as wet rope. I let it. She didn’t push me off.

Finally, her voice cracked the quiet, softer now. “Some people forget their dreams when they wake up,” she whispered. “I remember mine. Every time.”

The ache in her tone hit me square in the chest.

“You dream ‘bout somethin’ bad?” I asked, though hell, I already knew.

She didn’t flinch from the question, just from the truth of it. “I don’t know if bad is the right word.”

My voice dipped lower, steady as I could make it. “You can trust me, Sable. I meant what I said.”

Her eyes fell back to that book in her lap. Thumb slid across the worn corner, over and over, like she could rub the world away with just that touch.

“I used to believe nightmares were tests,” she said, her voice gone far-off again. “That if I endured them without fear, I’d bepurified. That’s what they told us. Suffering was holy. Suffering was cleansing.”

I didn’t breathe too loud. Didn’t dare.

“I used to pray I’d stop dreaming,” she went on. “But they told me the dreams were blessings. That pain was a gift.”

She glanced at me then, raw and fragile, and it damn near split me open. “It’s not,” she said. “It’s just… damage.”

It was the closest she’d come to namin’ it. To lettin’ me see the sickness she’d carried.

I nodded, throat tight. “Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “Yeah, darlin’, I know that all too fuckin’ well.”

She studied me like she was searchin’ for proof in the lines carved on my face. “Do you?”

“Yeah, Sable, I fuckin’ do.” My voice snapped harder than I meant it to. “And you gotta let me help you. Tell me what you’re runnin’ from. That busted-up car and a couple bags ain’t enough to keep you or those kids safe. Think of them.”

She stood, steppin’ closer, her shadow brushin’ mine. Her voice trembled, not from fear—nah, from the weight of truth pressin’ at her lips. “Why would you help me?”

“’Because I want to,” I said, standin’ too. My hand found hers, warm, tense, alive. “Talk to me.”

She looked like she might. Like she was right there at the edge.

“I’m running from—”

Engines cut her off.

Two bikes tore up the drive, gravel spittin’ under their wheels. I turned, already knowin’ the riders.

Devil and Mystic.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

Sable’s eyes widened. Panic crept up her skin like wildfire.

“It’s okay,” I told her quick. “They’re with me. I’ll handle it. We’ll finish this after they leave, yeah?”

She nodded fast, eyes bouncin’ between me and the bikes. Then—just for a heartbeat—her lips lifted in the smallest smile, like she wanted to believe me. And then she was gone, light on her feet, dartin’ back inside like flames were at her heels.

I watched the door click shut before turnin’ toward my brothers. Gut twisted, already bracin’ for their questions.

Strangers in the house meant explanations.