His voice rumbles above me, rough from exhaustion.
Too close.
My eyes open slowly.
Gray morning light spills across the rocks around us. The others are scattered nearby resting in shifts, weapons within reach, children bundled beneath blankets against the cold.
And me?
I’m curled against Russ’s chest like that’s where I belong.
One of his arms is wrapped securely around my waist. My head rests against his shoulder. His jacket is draped over both of us, trapping warmth between our bodies.
I freeze.
Not because I want away from him.
Because I don’t.
And that realization hits harder than the bullet did.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
His hand stays steady against my back.
Not pushing.
Not pulling.
Just there.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
My voice sounds wrecked.
Sleep roughened.
Too soft.
I should move.
Any sane person would move.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am for another dangerous second because his heartbeat is slow and steady beneath my cheek, and for the first time in days, my body doesn’t feel braced for disaster.
“You stayed,” I murmur.
Russ huffs a quiet breath above me. “Yeah.”
Simple answer.
Like leaving never crossed his mind.
I tilt my head back enough to look at him.
There are shadows beneath his eyes now. Dried blood stains the side of his shirt near the wound he keeps pretending doesn’t exist.
“You’re hurt.”
