Chapter 19
NINETEEN
SALEM
The sheets are a wreck. So am I. In the best, most dangerous way.
I’m tangled up with Ozzy in that soft, boneless afterglow where my body feels like it’s been wrung out and put back together wrong—wrong like right—and the room smells like warm skin and sleep and something sweet I don’t have a name for.
Ozzy is on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other curved around me like he forgot how to let go sometime around midnight and never bothered relearning. My cheek is pressed to his chest, listening to that steady heartbeat like it’s the only clock I trust.
The lamp is still on low.
Outside, the world is still out there—white vans and shadows and men who buy people like they’re objects.
But in here? In here it’s just Ozzy’s heat and my breath and the way my body keeps humming like it hasn’t accepted the fact that we stopped.
I shift slightly, and Ozzy’s arm tightens automatically. A low sound rumbles out of him—half groan, half warning. It sends a warm pulse straight through me.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and all the things we did to each other.
I tilt my head up, smiling lazily. “What?”
Ozzy cracks one eye open. His gaze slides over my face, my mouth, my hair falling everywhere. The look he gives me is equal parts pleased and wrecked.
“You keep moving like that,” he says, “and we’re not getting up today.”
My stomach flips. “Is that a threat?”
Ozzy’s mouth twitches. “It’s a promise.”
I laugh softly, because a promise like that feels absurdly comforting. And also because I’m still learning what it feels like to be wanted without a catch. I’ve never had this before. Not even my own parents ever wanted me.
I settle back against him, tracing idle shapes on his chest with my fingertips. There are lines of ink there—tattoos I haven’t studied enough yet, stories on skin that make me curious. I’m still not sure what I’m allowed to ask. Still not sure what I’m allowed to keep.
My smile fades a little, the edge of the world sneaking back in.
Ozzy notices immediately. He always does. His hand slides up my back, slow and grounding. “Hey.”
I hum, pretending I’m fine.
He doesn’t buy it.
So I change the subject before my brain can spiral into the ugly place where I don’t deserve this. “Tell me about your friends,” I say quietly.
Ozzy’s fingers pause, then resume their slow stroke. “My friends?”
“Yeah,” I say, lifting my head again. “The team. The people you talk to. The ones who… do all this with you.”
His eyes sharpen, but not in a suspicious way—more like he’s checking whether talking about them will make me anxious.
I shrug slightly. “I want to know who you are when you’re not just… with me.”
Ozzy studies me for a long beat. Then, like he’s decided I’ve earned it, he exhales and nods. “Okay.”
I wait, my heart oddly tight.
“Arrow,” he starts, voice steadier now, “is the one who keeps the chaos from turning into a dumpster fire. He’s always been a steady presence. Straight as an arrow kind of guy. If that makes sense.”
I snort. “That sounds like a full-time job.”
Ozzy’s mouth quirks. “It is. He’s… solid. The kind of guy who doesn’t say much, but when he does, you listen. He took point when this whole thing started—helping Juno. It turned into… all of this.”
I nod, absorbing it. “Juno’s his girlfriend, right?”
Ozzy’s eyes soften. “Yeah. She’s smart as hell. Funny. Deadly in a way that’s mostly digital but still terrifying. And she loves him. Like—real love.”
Something warm tugs at my chest.
Ozzy continues, “Gage… is family. Loud. Annoying. Loyal. The kind of guy who acts like everything’s a joke until it isn’t, then he turns into a beast.”
I smile without meaning to. “He sounds… safe.”
Ozzy’s gaze flicks to me. “He is.”
“And Knight?” I ask.
Ozzy’s mouth curves. “Knight is… an idiot.”
I choke on a laugh. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the best answer,” Ozzy insists, then relents. “He’s stubborn. Too sharp for his own good. Acts like he’s got it all under control when he’s one bad day away from lighting the world on fire.”
I blink. “That sounds like you.”
Ozzy gives me a look. “Don’t psychoanalyze me in bed.”
“I’m not,” I lie. “I’m observing.”
Ozzy huffs a laugh, then glances down at me, expression shifting into something quieter.
“You’ve met Arrow and Juno,” he says. “You’ve met Gage and River, technically. Knight and Lark too, but… that’s their own mess.”
My chest tightens again at the reminder that there’s a whole world outside this safehouse full of people who have each other. People with history. People who know how to belong.
I swallow. “And you?”
Ozzy’s brows lift. “Me?”
“Who’s your person?” I whisper. “Your best friend.”
Ozzy goes still for a second. Then his jaw softens, and something almost tender slips into his eyes. “Poe,” he says. The name feels like it matters the moment it leaves his mouth. “Poe Cameron,” Ozzy adds. “We grew up together.”
I blink. “You grew up with someone?”
Ozzy snorts softly. “Yeah. Believe it or not, I wasn’t born fully formed with a mohawk and a grudge.”
I laugh, and he smiles like he likes that sound coming from me. Then he looks toward the ceiling like he’s pulling a memory out of the dark. “Poe lived three houses down,” he says. “His mom worked nights. Mine worked whenever she felt like it. Which means… we raised ourselves, mostly.”
My throat tightens at the casual way he says it.
Ozzy continues, “We didn’t get along at first. He was quiet. Angry. Kept to himself. I was—”
“A handful,” I supply.
Ozzy’s eyes flick to me, amused. “Yeah. A major handful.”
I grin.
His expression shifts again, softer. “There was this day… I was maybe twelve. I got jumped behind the gas station.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
Ozzy shrugs like it’s nothing, like boys getting jumped is just… childhood. “There were three of them,” he says. “Older. They didn’t like that I mouthed off to one of them earlier in the week.”
My chest tightens with anger.
Ozzy’s mouth curves faintly, like he can see it in my face. “I fought. Didn’t do great.”
I start to sit up. “Ozzy—”
He tightens his arm around me, keeping me close. “I’m fine.”
“I hate them,” I say immediately.
Ozzy’s laugh is quiet. “Me too.” He keeps talking, voice low and steady. “I’m on the ground, blood in my mouth, trying to decide if I can crawl or if that’ll just make it worse.”
My throat aches.
“And then,” Ozzy says, eyes distant, “Poe shows up.”
I hold my breath.
Ozzy’s mouth softens. “He didn’t yell. Didn’t make a big deal. He just… walked right in like he owned the alley.”
My pulse thrums.
“He had a baseball bat,” Ozzy adds.
I blink. “Wow, that’s intense.”
Ozzy smirks. “Yeah. He didn’t swing it. Not at first. He just… held it. I remember him being so quiet.”
I can picture it so vividly it hurts.
“Those guys looked at him like he was nothing,” Ozzy continues. “Like he was just another kid.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Poe didn’t flinch. He said, ‘Get off him.’”
My skin prickles.
“They laughed,” Ozzy says. “So Poe took one step forward and tapped the bat on the pavement. Just once.” He makes the sound with his tongue—tok.
My heartbeat stutters.
“And something about it,” Ozzy murmurs, “made them hesitate. Like they realized he didn’t care what happened next.”
I whisper, “That’s terrifying.”
Ozzy nods. “It was. In a good way.”
I swallow. “What happened?”
Ozzy’s gaze drops to mine. “They left.”
Just like that.
I stare at him. “Just because he told them to?”
Ozzy’s mouth twitches. “No. Because he looked like he’d gladly go to jail at twelve years old for it.”
A laugh escapes me, half shocked, half relieved.
Ozzy’s expression turns warm. “After they left, Poe didn’t even ask if I was okay. He just sat beside me and handed me a soda.”
I blink. “A soda?”
Ozzy nods. “Stolen from the gas station.”
I laugh again. “Romantic.”
Ozzy’s eyes glint. “It was. For us.”
My chest tightens in a strange way.
Ozzy continues, “We sat there drinking warm soda, and Poe finally said, ‘You should stop picking fights you can’t win.’”
I giggle. “That sounds like you.”
Ozzy’s mouth curves. “I told him, ‘You should stop lurking like a serial killer.’”
I giggle, and Ozzy’s expression softens even more.
“He didn’t smile,” Ozzy says. “But he… stayed. Walked me home. Didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t make me feel weak.”
My throat tightens painfully.
“And after that,” Ozzy murmurs, “he was just… there. Always.”
I stare up at Ozzy, something sharp and aching forming behind my ribs. “That’s…” My voice wobbles. “That’s a real friend.”
Ozzy nods once. “Yeah.”
I swallow hard, blinking too fast. “I’ve never had that.”
Ozzy’s eyes sharpen. “Never?”
I shake my head, embarrassed by the honesty. “I’ve never trusted anyone like that. Not really. People… leave. Or they want something. Or they turn mean.”
My voice goes quieter. “It always felt safer to keep everything inside.”
Ozzy’s expression shifts to anger, and then to a fierce control. He cups the back of my head gently, bringing me closer. “You can trust me.”
My chest tightens. I laugh weakly, trying to deflect. “Ozzy—”
“No,” he says, voice low and unwavering. “I mean it.” His eyes lock on mine, intense and steady. “I’d do anything for you.” The words land like a weight. A beautiful, terrifying weight.
My throat tightens, and I hate how close I am to crying. “Why?” I whisper, because the question has haunted me since the moment he pulled me out of that compound.
Ozzy’s gaze drops to my mouth, then returns to my eyes. “Because you’re you.”
That’s not a logical answer. It’s not one I can argue with. It’s not one I know how to accept without flinching.
My lips part, and for a second I don’t know what to say. So I do the only thing I can. I press my mouth to his.
Ozzy makes a low sound in his throat and kisses me back immediately—slow, deep, like he’s been holding himself back from the moment we woke up. His hand slides down my back, firm and protective, and my body reacts like it’s been trained to crave him.
When we break apart, my breath is shaky.
Ozzy’s forehead rests against mine. “You okay?”
I nod, even though my chest hurts with how much I want to believe him. Then reality taps me on the shoulder again, because it always does.
Ozzy’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. Once. Then again. Ozzy’s eyes flick toward it, and his expression hardens slightly. It’s work. Or danger. He sighs. “I’ve got calls to make.”
My heart sinks instinctively. Not because I’m jealous. Because I’m scared the moment he steps away, the safety will go with him.
Ozzy must see it on my face because he kisses my temple and says, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod slowly.
He shifts, careful as he slides out of bed, and I immediately miss the warmth of him like my body is offended by the absence.
Ozzy pulls on a shirt and sweatpants, then turns back to me.
He looks… different like this. Less vulnerable.
More like a weapon. Still mine, my brain whispers, and I shove that thought down fast.
He comes to the side of the bed and brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “Stay here. I’ll be right outside.”
I nod again.
Ozzy’s gaze holds mine for a beat longer, then he steps away, grabbing his phone.
As he leaves the room, I curl into the pillows, the sheets still smelling like him, my body still humming.
I stare at the dim lamp and the quiet walls and think about what he said.
You can trust me.
I’d do anything for you.
I’ve never had a friend like Poe. Never had a person who showed up in the alley with a bat and no fear. But maybe— maybe I have something else now. Something dangerous. Something real. And for the first time, instead of flinching away from it—
I let myself hold it close, just for a little while longer.