Page 61 of Sick(ness)

He smiled then, small and real. “You sure about that?” he murmured.

Addy’s lips curved faintly. “Pretty sure.”

He laughed, the sound low and rough, but full of something new: hope. It seemed alien, yet pleasant.

They sat together in the flickering light, foreheads touching, hearts steadying. For a while, the world could stay broken. In here, it had just begun to heal.

Thirteen

Silent Vigil

Sawyer hadn’t slept.

He sat by the window, rifle balanced across his lap, eyes scanning the pale gray horizon where dawn was beginning to push through the last remnants of the storm. Even the forest seemed to be holding its breath.

Behind him, Addy slept curled under the blanket. Her face was soft in sleep, the tension finally eased from her features. He could see faint color in her cheeks again, a sign that the warmth had done its job. She looked peaceful.

He envied that.

He took a slow breath and let it out, his gaze sweeping the treeline. The storm had done more than simply bury them; it had covered every trace of their trail. No footprints, no tracks. The men who’d hunted them would either be stalled or given up. Either way, they’d bought themselves time.

Still, Sawyer didn’t relax. He never truly did.

He’d told himself not to get attached. Not to care. And here he was declaring his love, like a love stuck idiot. But watching her sleep now, so small against the world outside, he knew that he did love her.

He’d been through too much to mistake these emotions for weakness. It wasn’t. It was something he hadn’t allowed himself in years: connection.

And it terrified him.

He shifted slightly, gloved hand resting on his knee. The cabin creaked faintly in the cold; the fire snapping softly behind him. His eyes drifted back to her.

She murmured something in her sleep, a quiet, broken sound that made his chest tighten. He’d seen people die without flinching, but this, this small, fragile sound from her, nearly undid him.

“Shh,” he whispered without thinking. “You’re safe.”

Addy stirred but didn’t wake, the corners of her mouth softening. He found himself smiling, a rare, quiet thing.

He stayed that way for a while, keeping watch.

When Addy finally began to stir, Sawyer turned from the window. The light outside was brighter now, glinting off the snow and pouring pale light into the cabin.

“Morning,” he said softly.

She blinked, still half-asleep. “You didn’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Didn’t need to.”

Her eyes drifted toward the window. “The storm’s over.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got a small window before anyone finds us again.”

Addy sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “So… what now?”

Sawyer looked at her, his face unreadable but his tone sure. “Now we move.”

And when she nodded, without hesitation, he knew, whatever came next, he wasn’t facing it alone anymore.

* * *