Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
DAKOTA
The main lodge buzzes with conversation, forks scraping against mismatched plates as our newly expanded group shares dinner for the first time.
I sit opposite Sienna and beside Amelia at one of the long wooden tables, picking at my food, canned beans with some rabbit Ramirez trapped, while trying not to look across the room where Julien sits with Cameron and Rosa. I’ve barely spoken to him since… I chose Amelia’s side over his bed.
But I couldn’t do it. Not with her right here.
Sienna waves a hand in front of my face, her nails bitten to the quick. “You here with us?”
“Sorry. Yeah.” I smile half-heartedly, pushing my plate away. “Just tired.”
She studies me. “So what happened after we left?”
“Nothing dramatic. The reverend was crazy. Tried to sacrifice me to his zombie god.” I keep my tone light, like near-death is just another Tuesday now. “Julien handled it.”
Beside me, Amelia shifts closer. She’s gained a little color since we had to separate.
“Handled it?” Sienna’s eyebrows climb. “That’s very diplomatic.”
“He killed him.” The words come out flat. No point dancing around it. “The reverend had a knife. Would’ve killed me if Julien hadn’t—”
Amelia’s hand finds mine under the table. “Dakota.”
“I’m okay.” I squeeze her fingers, then release them to take a drink of water that tastes like rust from old pipes. “We got out. Found supplies. Made it here.”
“That’s the Wikipedia summary,” Sienna says. “What about the director’s cut?”
“That is the director’s cut.”
PG-13. Without the part where his fingers slid inside me by firelight. Or how I fell asleep against his body, safe for the first time in forever. Or how the cabin felt like home in a way no place ever has.
“Was he kind to you?” Amelia’s eyes are fixed on her barely-touched plate.
“Who, Julien?” I blink at her. “Yeah. He was… fine. He was fine.”
“Oh.” Her gaze drifts across the room to where he sits.
I follow.
Ramirez joined his table. Julian’s explaining something, hands moving as he sketches invisible diagrams in the air. Defense positions, probably. Or patrol routes.
As if sensing my attention, his head turns. Our eyes meet across the crowded room, and everything else fades—the chatter, the scraping chairs, even Sienna’s knowing smirk. Pain flashes across his features before he shutters it, and I look away first.
“I’m just glad you’re both okay,” Sienna says. “Cam was worried sick about his brother. Almost went after you himself, but Rosa stopped him.” She leans closer, voice dropping. “Honestly, she’s kind of terrifying. In a good way.”
“She is.” I laugh. “Julien says never to make her angry.”
“Sounds like you two got to know each other pretty well,” she says. There’s something in her tone I can’t quite place. Not suspicion exactly, but… curiosity?
“We had to work together to survive,” I say. “That’s all.”
She nods slowly.
My father stands, his chair scraping against the floor. “We should establish a proper command structure. Someone needs to be in charge.”
Rosa snorts from her spot at the end of the table. “Mijo already worked out the watch schedule with Ramirez. Unless you’re volunteering for the midnight shift?”
Dad’s face reddens. “I’m simply suggesting—”
“We know what you’re suggesting,” Rosa says. “Same thing you always suggest. That you should be in charge.”
Julien clenches his jaw, but he stays silent, letting his grandmother fight this particular battle.
“Perhaps we should discuss this tomorrow,” my mother says, her diplomatic voice smoothing over the edges. “Everyone’s tired.”
“I am,” Amelia says. “Can we go back to the cabin?”
“Of course.” I’m on my feet instantly, gathering our plates. “Let me just clean up.”
“I can take those,” Sienna offers. “Go on, get her settled.”
I shoot her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
Our parents’ cabin sits three doors down from the main lodge. Two bedrooms, a shared bathroom, and that same rustic furniture every cabin has. Mom fusses with the wood stove while Dad checks the locks for the third time.
Amelia and I have the smaller bedroom, two narrow beds separated by a nightstand. She sinks onto hers with a soft sigh, already reaching for her medication.
She puts them into her mouth dry, a skill learned from years of practice. “Thank you for staying with me tonight. I know it can’t be fun babysitting your sister.”
“Hey.” I perch beside her. “Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know. Where would you be?”
“Here. With you. Like always.”
“Like always.” She burrows into the covers. “Goodnight. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I strip off and quickly hop into bed.
Amelia falls asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out into that particular rhythm I know better than my own heartbeat. I lie on my back, staring at the dark ceiling, counting the seconds between her breaths.
Julien is probably patrolling right now.
Is he angry?
The moment I turned him down, hurt flashed in his eyes before he masked it. I’ve gotten better at reading his expression, the tiny shifts that reveal what he’s really feeling beneath all that control. And in that moment, I hurt him.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to make me feel guilty.
So why does my chest ache like something’s been torn out?
I miss him. His solid presence. The way his arm felt around my waist when we slept. The soft circles his thumb traced on my skin. I miss his rare smiles and how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he looks at me.
I even miss his bluntness.
I touch my lips.
Honestly, I’m fine with it just being practical if he’ll just hold me.
I roll over, squeezing my eyes shut.
Don’t think about him.
Don’t.
An hour passes. Maybe two. Amelia’s breathing stays deep and even while mine grows increasingly ragged. I can’t do this.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her, and pull on a sweater. The main room is dark, my parents’ door closed, Dad’s snoring audible through the thin walls. He’s avoiding me, which I welcome.
The cold night air is refreshing against my face. I move through shadows, feet remembering the path to the cabin Julien and I shared for exactly one night.
Our cabin. Not ours. His.
No lights shine from inside. I hesitate at the steps. He could be asleep. Or still on patrol. Or just not interested in whatever this is anymore.
My knuckles hover over the door. What am I doing? What could I possibly say that would explain sneaking out to find him?
I knock anyway. Soft, barely audible.
Nothing.
I knock again, slightly louder.
Still nothing.
I should go back to Amelia, to—
“What are you doing here?”
I spin, heart hammering. Julien stands before me, arms crossed, and his face unreadable in the darkness. How long was he standing there?
“I—” I shuffle with my foot. “Are we… are we still good for training?”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“I know, I just… Tomorrow, I mean. Or whenever. I just wanted to make sure we’re still on.”
“We are.” He climbs the steps, stopping one below me so our eyes are level. “Anything else?”
Yes. So much else. Tell him. Tell him you made a mistake. Tell him— “No. Just that.”
He holds my gaze for a long, excruciating moment before brushing past me to the door. He opens it and walks inside without closing it.
Not an invitation exactly, but not a dismissal either.
I hover at the threshold.
But it’s clear what I’m going to do, because—Can I have this?
Just this. Just his arms around me. Just the safety of his presence.
It doesn’t mean anything if we don’t let it.
I follow him inside and close the door behind me.
The cabin is dark except for the moonlight highlighting the planes of Julien’s back as he takes off his shirt and tosses it aside.
He moves to the bathroom without a word while I… stand in the middle of the room like an idiot, arms wrapped around myself. What did I expect? That he’d sweep me into his arms? That we’d pick up where we left off?
The couch calls to me, that same spot where he touched me, where I came apart under his hands. I sink onto it, hugging my knees to my chest.
Two minutes pass. Three. The bathroom door opens.
Julien emerges, still shirtless, water droplets clinging to his face. He pauses at the bedroom doorway, hand on the frame. For a moment, I think he’s going to disappear inside, leave me alone with my stupid choices.
Instead, he turns back. Crosses to the couch. And grabs the thick blanket from its arm. He settles into the corner, spreading it over his body before holding one corner up in silent invitation.
I unfold from my curl and crawl across the cushions. His arm comes around me as I settle in, my front to his, his warmth seeping into mine.
“Is this okay?” I whisper.
“Better than okay.”
His breathing slows, chest rising and falling, and gradually, impossibly, I drift toward sleep, safe in the circle of his arms.
For the first time since the others arrived, I feel like I can breathe again.
Light tickles my nose, actual sunlight, not the gray pre-dawn I usually wake to. I prop myself up on Julien’s chest, disoriented by the brightness streaming through the window. His hand immediately finds my hip, steadying me even as his eyes stay closed.
“Is it already time?” His voice is rough with sleep.
“Past time. I need to get back before Amelia wakes up. Or my parents.” Though honestly, after two weeks of this, I’m starting to wonder if they already know. If everyone knows about my late-night visits to Julien’s cabin.
His eyes open, that deep brown catching gold in the morning light. His other hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my cheekbone in a gentle caress that makes my heart stutter. Just like when his gaze drops to my lips, and I think he might kiss me.
Want him to kiss me.
But like every morning, he doesn’t cross that invisible line we’ve drawn.
Instead, his lips brush my forehead, a chaste touch that somehow feels more intimate than it should. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah.” I reluctantly extract myself from his arms. My sweater is twisted, and my hair is probably a disaster.