Page 59 of What Remains

Guilt, heavy and familiar, settled in his chest.

You're pathetic.

For months, he'd believed grief had destroyed him, leaving no room for anything else to take root. Apparently, he was wrong, and that discovery only made everything worse.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and began constructing the argument he desperately needed to believe.

She's scared. She's vulnerable. She needs help. That's all this is.

He'd seen it before—people clinging to whoever kept them alive, mistaking gratitude for something deeper. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. And even if it were, he wasn't that man anymore. The man Molly had married died with her in that warehouse. Whatever walked out afterward merely knew how to survive.

His gaze betrayed him anyway, drifting back toward the SUV.

Josie's arm tightened unconsciously around Layla as the little girl shifted in her sleep. Even unconscious, even drowning in her own exhaustion, she protected her daughter.

Something inside Seth twisted hard.

Molly used to do the same with AJ during thunderstorms—pulling him close without ever waking, as if her love was an instinct sleep couldn't touch. The memory hit with such force that he had to squeeze his eyes shut against it.

Different woman. Different child. Different life.

He swallowed against the ache building in his throat.

You don't get to move on. Not after Molly. Not after AJ. Not after failing them.

Somewhere along the way, that thought had hardened into law. If he kept carrying them—kept the grief close, kept the wound open—then maybe he hadn't truly lost them. Letting someone else in, even for a second, even in a dream he never asked for, felt like betrayal. Like forgetting. Like their faces might blur a little more each time he allowed himself that much relief.

A fresh wave of self-loathing washed over him for even weighing it.

Across the garage, Jay's quiet voice cut through the silence.

"Bad dream?"

Seth didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the glowing embers.

"...Not the usual one."

Jay frowned slightly. "Oh?"

Seth gave a humorless laugh under his breath. "That's the problem."

Chapter 12

Firehouse Musings

Josie woke to sound—a low murmur from across the bay, the soft rustle of blankets. It took a moment to place it, but the scent of smoke and cold concrete finally pulled the name from her memory: the fire station.

She shifted carefully, mindful not to wake her daughter. Layla's little body had migrated during the night, sprawling across Josie's arm clutching her bear.

Josie smiled despite herself. Children adapted, not because they weren't scared, but because they had no choice. Layla had adapted with a grace that broke her mother's heart a little more each day.

She brushed an unruly curl from Layla's forehead. "Sleep," she whispered.

Layla made a sleepy sound but didn't wake.

Josie's gaze traveled slowly around the dim bay. The fire had nearly burned itself out, leaving only glowing orange coals in the barrel. Jay sat near the garage doors, keeping watch with the patient stillness of a man who had done this a thousand times. Cara lay buried beneath blankets in one corner, a hand resting on her bow even in sleep.

And Seth⁠—