She laughs and presses her forehead against my arm. “God, I love you.”
The words still stop me.
Every time.
I touch her hair carefully. “I love you too.”
She looks up, eyes bright. “You’re getting better at saying that.”
“I practice.”
“With who?”
“The display case. It is discreet.”
She laughs harder, then winces because her ribs are still healing. I immediately steady her.
“I’m fine,” she says.
“No.”
“I’m fine enough.”
“Acceptable.”
“Look at you compromising.”
Peace does not arrive like victory.
It comes in stubborn pieces.
Morning coffee. Wound care. Bakery rush. Kauss, can you lift that? Kauss, stop scaring customers who complain about prices. Kauss, you cannot repair the toaster with military focus while shirtless unless you want Darlene to start charging admission.
The first night I sleep in the apartment as someone who lives there, not someone staying, I do not sleep easily. My body waits for orders. My mind inventories threats. Every creak of the building becomes possible danger.
Evie wakes and finds me sitting by the window.
Halo glows below, battered and damp and alive. Sweet Tooth’s sign shines blue over the street. A group of dockworkers passes beneath it laughing softly. Somewhere distant, a siren rises and fades.
She wraps a blanket around her shoulders and limps to my side. “Ghosts?”
“Yes.”
She sits beside me without asking me to come back to bed. That helps more than asking would.
“I thought home would feel easier,” I admit.
She leans her head against my shoulder. “Home is where the fear gets quieter. Not where it shuts up all at once.”
I look down at her. “You are wise when sleepy.”
“I’m wise always. Sleepiness just lowers my sarcasm defenses.”
“I like your sarcasm.”
“I know. That’s why I keep you.”
Below, Halo breathes.
