Page 26 of Grim

“Good.” Another beat. “Reapers are scattered but pissed. They’ll regroup.”

“I know.”

“You armed?”

“Always.”

“Thought so.” Stone’s tone shifted, not softer, but heavier. “You’re my line on this one.”

Grim’s jaw flexed. “Copy.”

“Get some rack time when you can. I’ll have Ghost or Vandal swing by at dawn.”

“Don’t need relief.” Grim’s voice was low, certain.

Stone didn’t argue. “Didn’t plan on sending any. Just making sure you weren’t white-knuckling it alone.”

Grim swallowed. “I’m good.”

A pause, not tactical, not assessing. Just… knowing.

“Heard Havoc running his mouth earlier,” Stone said, voice even. “About you being a little shaken.”

Grim’s jaw flexed. “Havoc talks too much.”

“Yeah,” Stone agreed. “But he wasn’t wrong.”

Grim didn’t respond.

Stone’s tone shifted, steadier, the way it got when he meant something. “She rattled you, brother. I saw it myself.”

Silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Not always a bad thing,” Stone added quietly. “Man like you, maybe it’s time something shook loose.”

Something in Grim’s chest pulled tight. “I’m good.”

“I know you are.” Another beat. “And she’s safer with you than anyone.”

Grim swallowed. “Copy.”

“Get some rest when you can.”

“Night.”

He hung up before the quiet between them could turn into something heavier.

The house felt different after the call, softer in a way that didn’t match the weight still sitting in his chest. Stone’s voice lingered, steady and familiar, a reminder of the world he came from. But this place… this woman… they pulled at him in ways he didn’t have a name for. Too warm. Too still. Too gentle for a man who’d spent years surviving instead of living.

He walked back to the couch, the blankets waiting for him like an invitation he didn’t know how to accept.

He scanned the room automatically, windows, corners, shadows, the line of sight to the front door. The sort of habit from too many nights in the wrong places. Necessary ones. He’d sleep, but only after he knew she was safe.

He sat down slowly, testing the cushions like they might disappear under him.

They didn’t.

They were soft. Too soft. A softness that made a man forget the world outside existed.