6. Jonah
Jonah
T he safehouse sits buried deep in the trees, invisible unless you know exactly where to look.
No lights.
No road markers.
Just a narrow gravel drive cutting through the forest before the cabin finally appears between the pines.
Ronan doesn’t kill the engine right away.
He scans the tree line slowly, headlights sweeping across wet branches and empty darkness while rain taps steadily against the SUV.
Only after a long second does he mutter, “Clear.”
The engine dies.
Silence settles hard.
After gunfire and tires and adrenaline, the quiet feels unnatural.
Too still.
Ronan climbs out first, rifle already in hand as he circles the perimeter automatically.
Habit.
Training.
Survival.
I stay where I am for another second, listening.
No movement outside.
No approaching vehicles.
Nothing except wind through the trees.
For now, we’re alone.
I turn toward Sienna.
She hasn’t moved since we stopped.
Her head rests against the seat, eyes closed now, breathing shallow enough to tighten something in my chest immediately.
Too pale.
Too still.
“You with me?”
Her eyes open slowly.
Focused on me eventually, but it clearly takes effort to get there.
“Still here,” she murmurs.
The sharp edge in her voice dulled somewhere along the drive.
Fatigue stripped most of it away.
I don’t like hearing that nearly as much as I should.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Not for long if you stay in this car.”
“I can walk.”
“No, you can’t.”
Her jaw tightens instantly.
“I’m not helpless.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
I open the SUV door before she can argue again.
Cold air rushes inside.
Sienna looks up at me with tired irritation that would be more convincing if she didn’t look seconds from passing out.
“You’re getting real comfortable ordering me around.”
I hold out a hand.
“You’re getting real bad at pretending you’re okay.”
For one stubborn second, she ignores my hand completely and tries to stand on her own.
The second her boots hit gravel, her knees buckle.
I catch her before she hits the ground.
One arm locks around her waist while the other braces her shoulders against me.
Sienna sucks in a sharp breath, fingers gripping hard into the front of my shirt like her body betrayed her before she could stop it.
Embarrassment flashes across her face immediately after.
Frustration too.
“I’ve got you,” I say quietly.
Not teasing.
Not pitying.
Certain.
Her grip tightens for one brief second before she forces herself to loosen it again.
But she doesn’t push me away.
Doesn’t pretend she doesn’t need the support anymore.
That alone tells me how exhausted she really is.
I slide one arm beneath her legs and lift her easily.
Sienna stiffens immediately.
Instinct.
Control.
She hates this.
Hates needing anything.
But after the first few steps, her body slowly relaxes against me despite herself.
Not fully.
Just enough.
Rain drips from the trees overhead while I carry her toward the cabin.
“You’re making this a habit,” she mutters weakly against my shoulder.
I glance down at her.
“You keep collapsing, I’ll keep carrying you.”
A soft breath escapes her.
Almost a laugh.
Almost.
“Dangerous promise.”
I push open the front door with my shoulder and step inside.
Warm air hits instantly, carrying the faint smell of cedar and old coffee.
Small safehouse.
Simple.
Functional.
Exactly what it needs to be.
Ronan’s voice carries from the kitchen area while he checks the security feeds.
“Perimeter’s clean. Motion sensors are up.”
“Lock everything down,” I call back.
“Already done.”
I head straight down the narrow hallway toward the back bedroom.
Only when the door shuts behind us does some of the tension ease from between my shoulders.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But manageable.
I lower Sienna carefully onto the bed.
Slowly.
Like she matters enough to be handled gently.
Because she does.
More than I want to think about right now.
Sienna exhales softly as the mattress dips beneath her.
“You didn’t have to carry me.”
I crouch in front of her, pulling the med kit onto the bed beside me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I did.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
Searching.
Like she’s trying to figure out whether I actually mean that.
I hold the look without backing down.
Because I do mean it.
Silence settles between us again.
Different now.
Closer.
“You always this intense?” she asks quietly.
I open the med kit. “You already asked me if I was controlling.”
“And you still haven’t answered properly.”
A corner of my mouth twitches slightly as I peel back the bandage on her side.
“Guess you’ll have to survive long enough to find out.”
That almost pulls a smile out of her.
Almost.
My focus shifts immediately back to the wound.
Still bleeding slightly.
Not terrible.
But enough to remind me how close we came tonight.
“You should’ve rested hours ago,” I mutter while cleaning the graze again.
Sienna winces faintly when the antiseptic touches raw skin.
“I didn’t have that option.”
“You do now.”
Her gaze sharpens slightly at that.
“You think this place is safe?”
I meet her eyes briefly while securing fresh gauze.
“No.”
The honesty surprises her.
I see it instantly.
“But it’s safer than where you were.” I press the bandage carefully into place. “And I’m here.”
Another silence follows that.
Heavier this time.
“And that’s supposed to matter?” she asks softly.
I look at her fully then.
Rain still dampens strands of dark hair near her face while exhaustion hollows shadows beneath her eyes.
“Yeah,” I say simply.
No hesitation.
No performance.
Truth.
Something shifts in her expression after that.
Tiny.
But real.
Like some part of her wants to believe me and doesn’t know how.
I finish securing the bandage and sit back slightly.
“You embedded yourself into ORACLE,” I say.
Sienna stays quiet for a long second.
Then—
“Yes.”
“You planning on explaining how that works?”
“No.”
I glance up.
She’s watching me again.
Careful.
Measuring.
“Later,” she adds more quietly.
Fair enough.
“For now,” she continues, “you should probably be asking how long it’ll take HELIOS to find us.”
I lean back in the chair beside the bed.
“How long?”
Her eyes drift briefly toward the dark window.
“Not long.”
Of course not.
I rub a hand across the back of my neck before looking at her again.
“You’re staying here tonight.”
Her brows pull together immediately. “I don’t stay anywhere.”
“You do now.”
“I can’t stop moving.”
“No,” I say quietly. “You won’t stop moving.”
That hits.
I see it land instantly.
Sienna goes completely still.
The room suddenly feels too quiet around us.
“You don’t have to run tonight,” I say.
The words soften something in her face so quickly it almost hurts to watch.
Like nobody’s ever offered her rest without conditions attached.
“I don’t stop,” she whispers.
“I know.”
I lean back slightly, giving her space without leaving completely.
“But you’re going to.”
Sienna stares at me for a long moment after that.
Searching my face.
Trying to decide whether this is temporary.
Whether I mean it.
Whether I’ll still be standing here once things get ugly again.
I don’t offer promises I can’t keep.
But I also don’t look away.
Finally, exhaustion wins.
Slowly, Sienna lies back against the pillow.
Still tense.
Still alert.
But less than before.
“Get some sleep,” I say quietly.
She hesitates.
Then closes her eyes.
Not fully trusting it.
Not fully surrendering.
But enough.
I stay exactly where I am beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of her breathing while rain whispers softly against the cabin roof.
Guarding.
Waiting.
Because I mean what I said.
She doesn’t have to run tonight.