Page 99 of Blood and Bells

“You do?”

Admittedly, it’s not my strongest line, but it’s the one that makes it out.

She huffs out a small laugh, stepping closer, closing the distance like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, I do. You’re a menace, you barrel into everything, and you say things like ‘I’ve watched cities burn’ in the middle of a conversation like that’s normal.”

I open my mouth to defend myself.

She doesn’t let me.

“But you showed up,” she says, softer now. “You stayed. You fought for this town—even when it would’ve been easier not to.”

I close my mouth.

“And you don’t get to decide for me what I can handle,” she adds, a little spark breaking through. “If you spiral off into something dramatic and ill-advised, I’ll be right there to drag you back out of it.”

Now does not seem like the time to argue the technicalities of my so-called spiraling.

She steps in fully now, close enough that the cold doesn’t matter.

“And yes,” she adds, a touch lighter, “you are absolutely an idiot.”

Another step closer.

“But you’re my idiot,” she says despite the tremor in her breath. “Not because you’re perfect—clearly—but because you try. And you keep choosing us, even when you think you shouldn’t.”

“You do?” I ask, aware this is apparently the best I can manage.

She laughs softly, brushing at her cheek. “I do.”

I blink. Then again, just to be certain this isn’t some elaborate hallucination brought on by festive trauma.

“Would you say that again?”

Her smile deepens, a little steadier now.

“I choose you, Nick Draven,” she says. “Even though you drive me completely insane.” She lifts a hand when I start to grin. “I was scared, okay? Of letting someone in. Of how fast this was happening. I should’ve listened. I should’ve let you explain.”

Her fingers tighten in her sleeve.

“That part’s on me.”

I shake my head. “Holly⁠—”

“No,” she says, softer but certain. “Let me finish.”

I do. Immediately.

“Because the truth is…” She exhales, then meets my gaze properly. “You make me feel safe. And that’s terrifying. But it’s also—” she huffs a small, disbelieving laugh “—really, really good.”

That lands somewhere critical. Possibly fatal.

I’m not sure I’m ever going to recover from this moment.

From this woman.

Not that I have any particular desire to.