Back home, whenever the rain turned violent and the thunder shook the walls, I would sneak into Sienna’s room and crawl into her bed. She’d wrap her arms around me without a word, and we’d stay like that until the storm passed.
Another boom rattles the glass. I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper a quiet prayer under the blanket.
Please don’t let it be bad. Please don’t let it last.
It gets worse.
The power suddenly cuts out, plunging the entire room into complete darkness. The wind howls louder, rattling the windows like it wants to break in. The curtains whip violently, and the rain starts coming down in heavy, angry sheets, pounding against the glass like bullets.
I pull the blanket tighter over my head, curling into a small ball, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Thunder cracks so loud I flinch hard, a scream slipping out before I can stop it. I hate this. I’ve always hated storms. They make me feel small and helpless, like the world is trying to tear itself apart and take me with it.
Please stop. Please let it pass. Please…
The connecting door between our rooms opens with a soft click.
I freeze under the blanket, then slowly peek out. A tall shadow fills the doorway, backlit faintly by what little moonlight slips through the storm clouds.
Nico walks toward the bed, his presence cutting through the darkness. When he stops beside me, his voice is low and surprisingly calm.
“Are you alright?”
A shaky breath of relief leaves me before I can catch it. Someone is here. Even if it’s him, I'll take it.
“I’m fine,” I lie, trying to sound steady. I hate that he’s seeing me like this, weak, scared, trembling under a blanket like a child.
He doesn’t buy it. “It’s obvious you’re not fine.”
Another loud crash of thunder makes me jump. I pull the blanket higher.
“You don’t like storms, do you?” he asks quietly.
I swallow. “No.”
The darkness feels heavier now, pressing in from all sides. I hear him move, then the mattress dips as he sits on the edge of the bed.
“The backup generator will kick in soon,” he says. “I already called the men. They’re working on it.”
I sit up slowly, clutching the blanket to my chest like a shield. “Why are you here?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, in that low, rough voice, “Because I heard you scream. You don’t need to be scared, because I’m a bigger storm than the one outside. Nothing’s going to take you away from me.”
My breath catches. There’s something dangerously possessive in the way he says it.
“Why?” I whisper. “Because you haven’t gotten your use out of me yet?”
A soft, dark chuckle escapes him. “Yeah… something like that.”
I try to read between the lines, but my mind is too scrambled. Is there a double meaning? Does he mean more than he’s saying?
“Thanks for stitching me up.”
I look at his now bandaged arm. “You're welcome. What happened?”
“Nothing to worry your head about.” He shifts closer. “Tell me something. What’s your fondest memory?”
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden change. “Why are you asking me that?”
