Chapter Sixty-Seven
THE SHEETS CLUNG to me like they weren’t sure I belonged.
Too clean. Too soft. Too safe. It was like my body had forgotten what softness felt like.
My shoulder throbbed where Gabrial’s blade had cut me, stitched and bandaged now, though it burned with every breath.
Exhaustion wrapped me tight, but sleep wouldn’t come.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw fire, heard chanting, felt the scrape of stone under my knees.
I turned my face into the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of detergent and fabric softener that clung to the clubhouse laundry. Not smoke. Not ash. Not incense. Here. Now. Safe.
But my body didn’t believe it yet.
The door opened, and my pulse spiked hot as lightning.
Zeke filled the frame. His cut was still damp from the storm, hair wild, face cut with shadows—but his eyes… God, his eyes weren’t hard anymore. Not the deadly fire he’d carried into the hall. They were soft, steady, holding something so fragile it nearly split me open.
And then I saw them.
Zara. Malik.
For a heartbeat, I thought I was dreaming again, that my mind had finally broken. But then Zara’s little voice cracked through the stillness—
“Mommy!”
She barreled across the floor, bare feet slapping wood, too fast for Zeke to catch her. Malik followed, slower, his jaw tight, his body stiff like he was bracing himself against the world.
My arms opened before I could think. Zara collided with me, small arms wrapping around my neck. Pain seared my shoulder, but I clung tighter. I pressed my face into her hair, breathing in the sweet, familiar scent of soap and little girl sweat and innocence I thought I’d lost forever.
Malik hesitated at the edge of the bed. His eyes—still too old for ten years—searched my face, like he was testing if I was really alive. Really here.
“Come here, baby,” I whispered. My voice broke. “Come to me.”
That was all it took. He climbed up carefully, then folded into me all at once, his arms clutching my side, his face buried in my ribs.
I gathered them both against me, my children, my heart, my reason for running. Tears blurred my vision as I kissed their hair, their temples, whispering their names over and over like if I said them enough, the world wouldn’t dare take them from me again.
Zeke stood at the foot of the bed, watching. He didn’t rush. Didn’t break the moment. His chest rose and fell heavy, like he was carrying the weight of all of us. When my eyes met his over Zara’s curls, his voice came low, rough, steady as stone.
“They’re here,” he said. “They’re yours. Nobody’s ever takin’ ‘em again.”
Zara sniffled into my neck. “I thought you were gone forever,” she whispered, her little fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt.
My throat closed. I kissed the top of her head, holding her tighter. “Never, baby. I’ll never leave you.”
Malik’s voice came quieter, steadier, but it cut even deeper. “I tried to take care of her,” he said, not looking up. “I told her you’d come back. I told her we just had to wait.”
The sob ripped out of me before I could stop it. I cupped the back of his head, rocking him gently. “You were so brave. Both of you. I’m here now. I’ve got you.”
The tears came harder then, not just fear but release. Hope. Relief.
Zeke finally stepped closer, slow, careful, as though even his shadow might shatter me. He crouched by the bed, one hand brushing my hair back, his touch reverent. “You hear me, darlin’? You rest now. They’re safe. You’re safe. And ain’t nobody in this world gonna lay a finger on y’all again.”
I buried my face in Zara’s hair, Malik pressed to my side and let myself believe it.