Page 57 of What We Become

“You started eating without me,” she says to Holden. “I trusted you.”

“You were unconscious. Food can be reheated.” He’s already pulling out her chair. “Sit.”

She sits. Micah plates her half a portion and sets it in front of her. Milo moves her water glass two inches closer to her hand.

“This smells amazing,” Fury says.

She spears a piece of chicken and eats slowly. We all watch, then pretend we weren’t when she looks up.

“It’s good,” she says, taking another bite.

Five forks start moving again.

“So,” Milo says, sipping his wine. “While you slept, I inventoried the dungeon. There’s a cabinet drawer labeled ‘sensory.’ Another labeled ‘impact.’ A third one just says ‘miscellaneous,’ and it’s locked. So I won’t know what’s in there until I pick it.”

“Nobody’s opening miscellaneous,” Holden says. “This isn’t our house.”

“I vote pick it,” Fury says. “I want a full report on what’s considered miscellaneous in a sex dungeon drawer.”

“It’s a room,” Eli says. “Not a dungeon.”

Fury and Milo look at him. “Same thing,” they deadpan in unison, and she points her fork at Milo in approval. He glows with it.

Dessert is Milo’s fault. He finds vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer, holds it up like a relic, and Holden—who cannot help himself—pulls shots from the espresso machine and pours them over the top. Affogato in a safe house. Excessive. Perfect.

Fury takes three spoonfuls and declares it the best thing she’s tasted since the wall, and nobody laughs because it’s too soon, and then everybody laughs because she laughs first.

I take my coffee black and wonder when she’ll talk about the wall without turning it into a joke.

“I’m going to sit on the deck,” she announces, pushing up from the table. “I want to see the stars.”

Micah starts to rise. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he settles. This one’s mine.

I walk her out slow. The night hits cold and clean, altitude-thin, pine on the wind. The ridge is just an absence now, and overhead the sky is doing something the coast never allows—stars in layers, deep enough to fall into. No light for miles. Nothing watching.

I settle her into the big chair by the rail. Blanket over her legs. Another one around her shoulders. She tolerates it, which means she’s tired.

“It’s quiet out here,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“Like, really quiet. No ocean. No traffic. No shouting.” She pauses. “Well. There’s some from Milo, but that’s it.”

From inside, we can hear him talking to whoever will listen. A muffled, “Is there a generator? There has to be a generator. I refuse to believe Odin put us somewhere without backup power.”

She chuckles.

We sit there for a while. The air cools and she pulls the blanket tighter.

“Knox?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you mad?” The question is practically a whisper.

I turn to look at her, but her eyes stay forward, on the trees darkening into shadow. “About?”

“About everything.” She’s avoiding looking at me. “About Jamie. About me letting him in. About me pushing so hard to have my freedom.” Her voice drops. “I treated the way you all protected me like a burden. Like you were all suffocating me. And the one time I got what I wanted, I ended up bricked into a wall.” She hiccups and sniffs.