7. Jonah
Jonah
I never make it to the bed in the next room.
Hours pass with me sitting in the chair near the bedroom door instead, forearms braced against my knees, weapon resting within reach beside me.
The cabin creaks softly around us as wind moves through the trees outside.
Rain still taps against the roof.
Ronan went quiet hours ago.
Probably asleep.
Probably not deeply.
None of us are built for deep sleep anymore.
My attention drifts back to the bed for what has to be the hundredth time.
Sienna sleeps on her side now, dark hair spread messily across the pillow, one hand curled near her face like even unconscious she’s still bracing for impact.
Her breathing finally steadied sometime after midnight.
Not perfect.
But better.
Enough to ease some of the tightness sitting in my chest.
She needed the rest far more than she admitted.
I watch her longer than I should.
Monitoring.
Waiting.
Looking for any sign her condition is slipping again.
At first, nothing changes.
Then her shoulders tighten.
Small movement.
Barely there.
I straighten slightly in the chair.
Another shift follows.
Her breathing quickens.
Shallow now.
Uneven.
“Don’t…”
The whisper barely reaches me.
I’m already on my feet.
“Sienna.”
She doesn’t react.
Her head turns sharply against the pillow, brows pulling together as her fingers twist hard into the sheets beneath her.
“No.”
The word cracks out of her like she’s fighting someone she can’t escape.
I cross the room fast.
“Sienna, wake up.”
Her body jerks violently beneath the blankets.
“Stop—”
Panic hits her voice full force now.
Raw enough to slice straight through me.
I catch her wrist immediately, grounding her before she can thrash harder against the injury in her side.
“Sienna.”
Nothing.
She isn’t seeing the room.
Isn’t hearing me.
Wherever her mind went, it’s bad enough her entire body locks rigid with fear.
Her breathing spirals faster.
Too fast.
I move closer, one hand steadying her shoulder carefully.
“Hey.”
My voice drops lower.
Calmer.
“You’re here. You’re safe.”
Another sharp breath tears from her chest.
Then suddenly—
“STOP!”
Her eyes fly open.
Wild.
Disoriented.
Panic slams through them as she looks around the room like she expects someone else standing there.
Some threat I can’t see.
Then her gaze locks onto mine.
And everything stops.
Not instantly.
But enough.
Her breathing stays ragged, chest rising hard beneath the blankets while recognition slowly pushes through the panic.
I keep my grip steady against her wrist.
“You’re here,” I say quietly.
Not a question.
A fact.
Sienna blinks twice.
The terror in her expression dulls slightly as the room comes back into focus around her.
The cabin.
The bed.
Me kneeling beside her.
“I…”
Her throat works hard around the word before she stops completely.
A shadow crosses her expression then.
Embarrassment.
Anger at herself.
She looks away immediately.
Like she hates the fact I witnessed any of that.
I don’t release her.
Don’t move back.
“You’re okay.”
Sienna laughs softly once.
Broken sound.
“That wasn’t okay.”
“A nightmare isn’t a problem.”
Her jaw tightens instantly.
“You don’t know what it was.”
I study her quietly for a second.
“You want to tell me?”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then—
“No.”
“Okay.”
That catches her attention faster than an argument would have.
Her eyes lift back toward mine.
“You’re not going to push?”
“Not tonight.”
Something unreadable flickers across her face.
Relief maybe.
Or confusion.
Possibly both.
The room settles quietly again, except for the storm outside and the uneven sound of her breathing, slowly calming.
I became aware of one thing then.
Her hand is still wrapped tightly around mine.
At some point during the panic, her fingers locked against my wrist like she needed something solid to hold onto.
And she still hasn’t let go.
Neither have I.
“You stayed.”
The words come quiet enough I almost miss them.
“Yeah.”
Sienna watches me carefully now.
“You don’t trust me.”
“No.”
No point lying about it.
A faint breath escapes her.
Almost a laugh.
“But you stayed anyway.”
I shrug one shoulder slightly.
“Didn’t seem smart leaving you alone while you were bleeding and half-conscious.”
That earns the smallest flicker of amusement from her.
Gone almost immediately.
But real.
Her fingers loosen slightly against my wrist now.
Not pulling away.
Adjusting.
Testing the contact instead of resisting it.
“I don’t sleep,” she admits after a moment.
I glance toward the tangled sheets around her.
“You were asleep.”
“Not like that.”
Not safely.
The unspoken words sit heavily between us.
I don’t ask what put them there.
Don’t ask who taught her rest was dangerous.
I can already guess enough.
“Then we’ll fix it.”
Sienna stares at me.
Confusion moves through her expression slowly, like she genuinely doesn’t know how to process a sentence like that.
“You say things like they’re permanent,” she murmurs.
I lean back slightly on my heels.
“Like what?”
“Like you plan on staying.”
The storm rolls outside again, thunder low in the distance.
I hold her gaze steadily.
“I do.”
That hits her harder than the nightmare did.
I see it instantly.
The uncertainty.
The disbelief.
The tiny fracture in all that control she wears like armor.
Sienna looks away again, but this time it isn’t retreat.
It’s thought.
Dangerous thought.
I finally loosen my grip enough to let her pull away if she wants.
She doesn’t.
Not immediately.
“Get some sleep,” I say quietly.
She hesitates.
Then slowly lies back against the pillow again.
This time, when her hand slips from mine, her fingers drag lightly across my skin first.
Small contact.
Barely there.
But intentional.
I stay beside the bed while she settles again, eyes slowly closing as exhaustion pulls her under once more.
Less tense this time.
Less afraid.
Outside, the storm keeps raging through the mountains.
Inside the safehouse, I keep watch.
Because protecting people is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.
And whether Sienna realizes it yet or not—
I’m already protecting her.