Page 74 of Dark Night of the Soul

“I’ll go first.”

“I assumed,” she said.

I stepped inside and paused. Musty—closed up too long. But clean otherwise. Moving deeper, I saw Silas had thought of everything. Keys on the coffee table. Kitchen stocked. Clothes for both of us.

She was inside now, looking it over. Her gaze moved from one place to the next, assessing.

“Silas did all this?” she asked.

“I told you he has special skills.”

“I’m glad he’s on our side.”

Then she crossed to the sofa and sank into it. Her head dropped back against the cushions, eyes closing.

“I’m so tired,” she said.

Not physically. I heard it in her voice. The bone-deep exhaustion of someone who’d been running on adrenaline and fear too long.

“Sleep,” I said. “I’ll keep watch.”

She didn’t argue. Didn’t ask what I was watching for, or how long we’d stay, or what came next. She curled onto her side, pulled her knees up, and let go.

Within minutes, her breathing evened out.

I stood there watching her, this woman who’d navigated broken glass barefoot and faced down nightmares and still found the strength to ask if we should lock the door of a condemned building.

Mine.

Damaged or not, she was mine. And I’d burn down anyone who tried to take her from me again.

Chapter 25 | Anna

I awoke alone in an unfamiliar bed for the third time in a week. But this time, I knew where I was. A cabin. Somewhere north. Somewhere I couldn’t hurt anyone but him. I was determined not to do that, but I didn’t know how.

Though I was still tired—even after sleeping most of the day and all night—there was a sense of safety that had settled through me.

But safety was fragile, and I promised myself I would not take it for granted.

I still didn’t know where we were. Turkey? Russia? Somewhere else with endless forests? For all I knew we were in the Enchanted Forest. Wouldn’t be the worst news.

I didn’t need to know. Better if only he knew.

I slid out of the bed and stood a moment to get my bearings. Morning light filtered in through the one window, seeping through the edges of the blackout curtains. The room was sparsely furnished. One chair in the corner. A bedside table. Lamp. Dresser.

I still wore the borrowed clothes from the first safe house and, frankly, I was in desperate need of a shower and a toothbrush.

And coffee.

I smelled coffee.

I followed my nose to the small kitchen.

He was cooking scrambled eggs.

I blinked, staring at him like he was a stranger.

“You cook?” I asked.