Page 9 of Carver’s Crusade

Grounded.

“You’re okay,” Carver says, calm and firm. “You’re safe.”

Safe.

The word doesn’t quite land, but his voice does.

I drag in another breath, then another, each one a little easier than the last. My heart is still racing, slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, but the room is coming back into focus. The steady beep of the monitor. The sterile smell. The weight of the blankets.

Not Tony.

Not his hands.

Carver shifts closer, slow enough not to startle me. “Nightmare?”

I nod, swallowing hard. My throat aches, phantom pressure lingering like a bruise beneath my skin.

“Yeah,” I manage. “It felt so real.”

His jaw tightens, just for a second, like he knows exactly what I mean. Then it’s gone, replaced by that same controlled calm.

“Look at me,” he says.

I do.

“Breathe in,” he instructs, demonstrating, slow and measured.

I follow, shaky at first.

“Out.”

Again.

We do it a few more times, my breaths evening out, the panic loosening its grip little by little.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”

And I do.

Because right now, in the middle of the fading nightmare and the too-bright hospital room, Carver’s voice is the only thing keeping me anchored.

And I don’t know if that’s a good thing… or a very dangerous one.

CHAPTER 5: CARVER

The room is quiet now. Not silent—hospitals are never silent—but close enough that I can hear the soft rhythm of her breathing over the distant beeps of machines and muted footsteps in the hallway.

I lean back in the chair beside her bed with my elbows resting on the armrests. I should probably get up and move around, but I don’t. I can’t seem to take my eyes off Raven.

She sleeps like she’s finally surrendered to it, like whatever chased her through that nightmare has loosened its grip. A few minutes ago, she was thrashing, fighting something I couldn’t see, her voice tight with fear. The sound of her whimper is still stuck in my chest.

Now she’s at peace. I hope her nightmares stay away. Her long black hair fans out across the pillow, dark and silky, framing a face that doesn’t belong in a place like this. Too soft. Too striking. Even in the dim light, I can see the warm glow of her skin—caramel tones that catch what little light slips through the blinds. She has the face that makes you look twice, before looking again.

Like I’ve been doing since I first walked into the room. She’s magnificent. My gaze drifts over her features—the curve of her cheek, the shape of her lips, the faint crease between her brows that hasn’t quite smoothed out even in sleep. Like part of her is still fighting.

My jaw tightens at the thought. I don’t like that she’s not at peace, even in her dreams. Someone put that fear in her. She looked so helpless and lost when she woke up. Her eyes were wide with fear as she desperately tried to calm her breathing. Those eyes searched the room for her attacker before landing on me. Those eyes pierced something inside me.

Green. Not just green—something brighter. Almost glowing. The kind of color that shouldn’t exist, but does. And when she looked at me… there was so much fear in them it hit harder than anything else in that moment.