I let my hand drop, keeping my mouth shut. Sometimes holding the line meant knowing when to stop pushing.
The comm in my ear crackled. I tilted my head, catching the voice on the other end.
Kara stepped into the arch that led to the foyer, gesturing for me. “They’re here.”
I pushed up from the couch and glanced down at Sabine. “And they brought pizzas.”
Her mouth lifted, almost a smile, but it faltered before it reached her eyes. A single tear slid down her cheek. I reached my hand toward her without thinking, but caught it halfway. She noticed and brushed it away herself.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t apologize,” I told her. “We’ll handle it.”
I let my gaze hold on hers a beat longer than I should have. Even tired, hair mussed from the drive, she was beautiful. It wasn’t just her face. It was the way she held herself, chin high even with uncertainty pressing in. She was stubborn. Strong.
“Stay put,” I said.
She gave me a wry look and glanced at her wrapped ankle. “Not like I can run off right now.”
“That’s the idea,” I said, letting a faint smile tug at my mouth. If she noticed the warning under it, she didn’t show it. “I’ll be right back.”
I crossed the room, the warmth from the fire fading with each step toward the hall. Kara was opening the door, and I fell in behind her. The muffled sound of tires on gravel carried through the thick stone walls.
As we reached the courtyard, the cooler air cut through my jacket. Headlights cut across the courtyard, washing over the archway and the brick path beyond.
The whole team was here.
7
Sabine
The door slammed againstthe wall, a gust of cold air spilling into the living room. My shoulders tensed as heavy boots crossed the threshold, each step carrying the weight of someone who belonged here more than I did. A muscular frame filled the archway for an instant before the woman moved past, dark shirt stretched over shoulders built for lifting more than groceries. Her forearms, knotted with black-and-gray ink, flexed as the paper handles cut into her fingers.
She gave me only a single nod. I nodded back, a reflex more than a greeting, but she kept moving. Her gaze swept the room before returning to the path through the living room toward the kitchen. There was a stillness to her even in motion, like she didn’t waste a single ounce of energy on anything unnecessary.
From where I sat, I could only see a sliver of the kitchen. I caught the edge of the counter and the edge of a porcelain sink. The woman disappeared into that space, the muted clink of jars and boxes landing on a hard surface marking her arrival.
More boots in the foyer, and this time Ellie passed through. She carried a tall stack of boxes. Steam and the scent of hot pizza curled from the gap in the top box. The sleeves of her dark shirt were pushed to her elbows, forearms steady under the load.
I shifted slightly, tracking her path. The warmth from the pizza pushed against the cooler air still clinging to the entry. The sound of cardboard hittingthe counter joined the rustle of paper bags, followed by the sharper rip of plastic seals being torn open.
The scents layered quickly: garlic, tomato, and the yeasty comfort of fresh crust. I adjusted my position again, pulling my injured ankle closer so it rested more securely on the pillow. The voices in the kitchen dropped low, just enough that I couldn’t catch the words. A cupboard door opened, hinges squeaking softly before closing again.
I let my gaze rest on the kitchen’s edge, watching movement in the corner of my vision. It struck me that they weren’t just unloading dinner. This was a supply run. Groceries and essentials. They were planning to be here for a while. The thought sat heavy, a mix of reassurance and unease curling together in my chest.
I leaned back against the sofa cushion, my fingers curling over the blanket in my lap. From the doorway to the kitchen, I could still hear the low rhythm of voices and the soft clatter of glass against stone. They were making themselves at home. And, whether I liked it or not, so was I. The cushion had warmed beneath me, and the smell of pizza lingered from the kitchen, making my stomach growl.
Another set of steps, lighter this time but steady. Kara appeared next to me. “Come on, let me help you to the table.”
I looked up at her. She seemed almost friendly now, her hand outstretched and her eyes softer than they’d been since we met. I moved my good foot, pressing it into the rug for leverage. My fingers caught the sofa’s edge as I started to push myself up. The shift pulled at my ankle, a quick, hot ache that made me hesitate.
She closed the space between us, her arm coming around my waist in a smooth motion. Her hand settled at the curve of my hip, the fabric of her jacket brushing my sweater before the heat beneath it began to seep through. The pressure anchored me instantly. My balance adjusted around it, my body aligning to match the support.
I let my weight rest into her side, allowing the pain to ease enough that I could move. The contact was close enough that I could feel the difference intemperature: the cooler outer layer against my ribs, the warmth underneath finding its way through with each breath.
My hand landed against her side for balance. The muscle beneath the jacket shifted as she adjusted to me, her stance broad enough to take my weight without strain.
We didn’t move yet. Her arm stayed firm around me, holding just enough to keep me steady without making me feel trapped. The kitchen door was only twenty steps away, but for that moment, we stayed right where we were, my awareness fixed on the solid line at my side and the quiet heat that came with it.
