Chapter 72 Guarding The Quiet
GUARDING THE QUIET
Lullaby - Niykee Heaton
Bones
By the time the light starts thinning at the edges of the room, Kayla looks wrung out.
Not frantic anymore. Not brittle.
Just…used up.
It shows in the way she keeps shifting positions without ever settling. Knees up, then down. Hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, then shoved back. She rubs her palms over her thighs like she’s checking she’s still there.
Honey’s humour has softened into background noise. Ghost is quiet now, presence without pressure. Hatchet is dozing. The room smells like food that’s been eaten slowly and tea that’s gone cold before anyone finished it.
I watch Kayla’s eyelids flutter. She’s not asleep. She’s tired enough to want to rest, but alert enough to resist it.
Eventually, she exhales and says, “I think I need to lie down.”
Then, almost immediately: “But I don’t want to.”
I don’t jump in, I let the sentence finish forming inside her. I figure she’s had enough of people jumping in to give their advice lately. That didn’t work out so well for Nightshade, so I don’t plan on making the same mistake.
She stares at the far wall. “I’m not scared to sleep,” she adds. “I just…don’t trust the quiet.”
There it is. And I completely get it. I’ve come to learn that when it goes quiet, something bad is coming.
I shift forward, elbows on my knees. “That makes sense.”
She looks at me, startled. “It does?”
“You’ve had a lot of truth dropped on you in a short amount of time,” I say softly. “Your brain thinks if it lets go, something else will happen without you noticing.”
She swallows. “Yeah. I think…yeah, you’re right.”
I nod toward the bed. “You don’t have to sleep. Just rest. You can sit or lie down, you don’t even have to close your eyes, but give your body permission to relax, even if your brain doesn’t want to.”
She eyes me like my suggestion might bite. “And if I do fall asleep?”
I meet her gaze. Don’t soften it. Don’t dramatise it. “Then nothing happens without you knowing,” I say. “Because I’ll be here.”
She searches my face. “What does that mean?” she asks quietly.
“It means,” I say, “that if you wake up, I’m still there. If someone comes near you, I’ll wake you. If you start to spiral, I’ll stop it before it takes hold. I’ve got you.” I pause. Then add, truthfully, “And if you don’t sleep at all, that’s fine too.”
She considers that for a long moment.
“You’d stay?” she asks.
“Yes.”
No conditions. No qualifiers.
She nods once, decision made.
Kayla stands slowly, like she’s conserving energy, and crosses to the bed. She hesitates at the edge, then climbs in under the covers fully clothed, curling onto her side with her back to the room.
A defensive position.
I wait.
She doesn’t ask. But after a beat, she shifts, just enough to leave space behind her. An invitation.
I kick off my shoes, strip down to my boxer briefs, and lie down carefully, keeping distance at first. When she doesn’t tense, I slide an arm around her waist – not tight, not trapping. Just contact. Proof. A little weight, like a safety blanket perhaps.
She exhales like she’s been holding it all day.
“Is this okay?” I murmur, not really sure when I became this person. Soft. Caring. Protective.
“Yes,” she says. Immediate. Certain. “Just…don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” And I mean it.
She tucks her hands over my forearm, fingers curling like she’s anchoring herself to something solid. Or trying to ensure I keep my promise. Her breathing evens out gradually, not into sleep, but into something close.
Rest without surrender.
Minutes pass.
Maybe longer.
Her body softens. The constant micro-movements stop. She stills in a way that feels chosen, not collapsed.
At some point, she murmurs, barely audible, “You’re good at this.”
“Watching?” I ask.
“Staying,” she corrects.
I don’t answer but it stirs something in my chest. Anyway, she’s drifting now. Not asleep. Not fully awake. Balanced on that edge where trust lives or dies.
I stay exactly where I am.
Alert.
Present.
Guarding the quiet instead of letting it swallow her.