Page 88 of Cold Mercy

“Call if you need me,” she says quietly.

The door closes with the softest click.

Silence settles around me, but it’s not empty. It feels like her. I sit on the edge of the bed, steadying my breath.

I ended up in her world. And I have no idea how to walk out of it without wanting more.

CHAPTER 19

SOPHIA

Thomas Reed has been sharing a home with me for several days now. Or maybe it’s me sharing one with him. What surprises me the most is how natural it feels, how easily he settles into the empty spaces in my life as if they had been shaped for him long before I realized something was missing.

There's no pressure and no lingering tension between us. No one is pushing for more, and we're just letting things be, taking it all impossibly slow.

I don’t know what we are to each other, or what we could ever be, or what the world would even allow us to become. But in this moment I feel something close to happiness, something I haven’t let myself touch in years.

Every morning begins the same way. A soft knock on my bedroom door, his voice still low with sleep, offering two new facts about himself while standing there in pajamas like it’s the most normal ritual we’ve ever shared. Yesterday, for the first time, I stopped him before he could leave and gave him two facts of my own. I wanted him to know everything. The good pieces, the wrong ones, the damaged ones. Because ever since he stepped fully into my life, I haven’t once tried to disappear, hurt myself, or answer the dark whispers that used to call me so easily. Even when we yelled at each other, even when we traded the worst versions of ourselves, I still felt something protective radiating from him, something that kept me anchored when I was barely holding on.

He probably doesn’t even know he saved me.

After a shower, I walk downstairs, towel-damp hair falling over my shoulder, and find him in the living room with a mug of coffee, studying the books that line the shelves around the fireplace. He looks peaceful in the soft morning light, curious in a way that makes my chest tighten.

“Anything caught your eye?” I step behind him and ask,

He startles, then turns toward me with that half-smile he doesn’t know how to hide.

“What would you recommend for a beginner?” I brush past him deliberately close, a whisper of skin against skin, and reach for a book, holding it between us.

“This one,” I say quietly. “It’s gentle. Perfect if you need to kill some time while you’re stuck here.”

I walk toward the kitchen to make my own coffee, but before I get more than two steps, his fingers circle my wrist, warm and steady, not pulling me back but asking me to stay. I don’t want to pull away. Not when I can feel something in the way he touches me.

“Hey,” he murmurs, softer than I expect. “If we start this one… we’re reading it together. Tonight in my room.”

My heart lifts in my chest like it finally remembers how. I try to hide the smile but fail miserably.

“Fine,” I say, pretending not to care even though I absolutely do. “I’ll bring tea.”

✽✽✽

I knock on his door with a mug of tea in one hand, his medication in the other, and push it open to find him already stretched across the bed. The book is waiting beside him like he’s been counting down the hours. He looks up at me with a slow blink, his lashes half-lowered, and pats the space next to him without a word.

I lie on my stomach beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his side. I start reading, my voice low, and I don’t know whether he’s following the story or watching my lips because every few seconds I sense the weight of his gaze on me. After a while, his head tilts back, his eyes drifting shut, and I nudge his arm gently, mindful of every bruise he tries so hard to ignore.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Don’t fall asleep yet. Am I really that boring?”

He shifts onto his side, leaning on his elbow, close enough that I can feel his breath when he answers.

“No, princess,” he says slowly, as though the truth is pulling itself out of him.

“Your voice is…nice to listen to. And the book isn’t bad either.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the ridiculous smile threatening to spill out, then keep reading until my own eyes grow heavy. I close the book and set it aside, and when I lie down beside him again, everything inside me softens. For days, we’ve been orbiting each other without crossing the line. Just little touches and looks that burn more than anything physical ever has. I’m not saying I don’t want more, but I want it when we’re both steady enough to hold it, when it’s real and not something rushing out of fear or loneliness.

Without thinking, I slide my hand across his stomach, reaching to slip it beneath his shirt so I can rest my palm on his chest. Nothing more, just warmth.

But before I can touch his skin, his fingers clamp around my wrist. Firm, startled, almost panicked.