Chapter 17 Kit
KIT
We didn’t stop driving until the first light of dawn bled across the horizon. The van rattled down a lonely stretch of highway, the kind of road that didn’t see much life anymore.
I kept glancing in the side mirrors, half-expecting headlights to appear behind us, but the night stayed empty.
Simon’s hand was still in mine, resting between the seats. His thumb brushed lazy circles against my skin.
Every few minutes, I’d look over and catch him watching the road, quiet, his profile lit by the faint grey dawn. He looked tired. Pale, but alive.
Alive. God, I almost lost him.
“Next town,” I said, voice rough. “We’ll stop there. Change vehicles.”
Simon nodded, but didn’t say anything. The silence between us wasn’t heavy. Not the bad kind, anyway. It was full of all the things we couldn’t quite voice yet.
Fear. Relief. The thin thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, we’d actually made it out.
By the time we reached the next town, the sky was bleeding pink. A sleepy gas station glowed at the edge of the road, its flickering neon sign buzzing weakly.
I pulled over beside it, rubbing a hand over my face. We needed to choose a place to hole up in soon. Simon leaned forward, looking at the cracked windows and peeling paint.
“Picturesque,” he said softly.
“Don’t get too attached.” I killed the engine. “We’ll grab something temporary. A motel, maybe. Somewhere off-grid.”
He nodded again, but when I opened my door, his hand caught my sleeve.
“Kit.”
I looked down. His eyes met mine, full of quiet worry. “You’re shaking.”
I hadn’t even noticed. My hands were trembling. Adrenaline come-down. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to steady.
“Yeah,” I said. “Guess I am.”
He hesitated, then reached out and covered my hand with his.
“We’re okay,” he murmured. “You got us out.”
I didn’t answer. Because we’re okay sounded too close to a lie. Marcus wasn’t dead, but the Guild wouldn’t let this slide. They’d come after us, and it was my fault.
We ditched the van behind a rusted chain-link fence a few streets away and found a small roadside motel.
“Vacancy” blinked in half-dead neon above the office door. The man behind the counter didn’t even look up from his magazine when I paid in cash.
Room key in hand, we climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway smelled faintly of mildew and air freshener.
When I unlocked the door, the light flickered on to reveal threadbare carpet and a sagging double bed.
“Five stars,” Simon murmured, stepping inside.
I let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”
I quickly drew all the dark curtains shut, double-checking every edge to make sure not a sliver of sunlight could slip through. The thought of even a stray beam touching him made my chest tighten.
When I turned back, Simon was sitting on the edge of the bed, pale in the dim light, watching me with that quiet, trusting look that always undid me.
His head fell into his hands for a second, shoulders shaking. He wasn’t crying, Simon was just spent.
I stood there for a long moment, staring. My chest hurt with how much I wanted to cross the room, to touch him, to just make sure he was real.
Instead, I walked to the bathroom sink and splashed cold water over my face. The mirror above it was cracked, the glass warping my reflection.
My knuckles were bruised. There was dried blood on my sleeve. I didn’t know whose it was.
What have I done?
The Guild would come for me. For him. We’d crossed a line tonight, one you didn’t walk back from.
When I closed my eyes, all I saw was Simon. His pale throat, the way he’d said thank you like it meant something sacred. And I knew I’d do it all over again.
“Kit?”
I looked up. Simon was leaning against the bathroom doorway, watching me. His jacket was gone, shirt collar rumpled, dark hair mussed from running his hands through it.
He looked fragile in the washed-out light and still, somehow, unshakably steady.
“You should sleep,” I said quietly.
“I will. In a moment.”
He crossed the room, close enough that I caught the faint metallic tang of blood still clinging to his skin. His gaze dropped to my hands.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s not,” I blurted.
But he took my hand anyway, his thumb brushing over the torn skin on my knuckles. His touch was impossibly gentle.
“I still can’t believe you chose me over them,” he murmured.
I tried to laugh it off, but it came out softer than I meant. “Haven’t we been over this?”
Simon smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth trembling. “I’m just happy,” he said. “That you did.”
The space between us felt charged, heavy with everything we hadn’t said. For the first time that night, the fear that had been clawing at me finally began to fade.
“Simon,” I murmured, my voice catching on his name.
He didn’t move away. “What?”
I didn’t have an answer that made sense. So I reached up instead, my fingers trembling slightly as I touched his face. My thumb traced the line of his jaw, the warmth beneath his skin.
He leaned into my touch, eyes half-lidded, breath shallow.
It hit me then, how close I’d come to losing this. To losing him. Every inch of him felt like something I’d almost never get to touch again. The thought made something twist painfully in my chest.
I couldn’t stand the distance anymore.
I leaned in, closing the space between us, and kissed him. Soft at first, uncertain. Then deeper, hungrier, the kind of kiss that stole the breath from both of us.
He made a quiet sound and his fingers curled in my shirt, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. The world narrowed to the press of his mouth and the warmth of his body.
The comforting and familiar scent of him filled my senses. For a moment, there was no Guild, no fear, no running. Just us.
When we finally broke apart, I rested my forehead against his, my pulse racing.
“We’ll stay here during the day, travel at night,” I whispered, still catching my breath. “The Guild—”
“I know,” he interrupted softly. His voice was low, steady in a way that anchored me. “But I’m not worried.”
I gave a shaky laugh. “It won’t be easy.”
“I know,” he said again, smiling faintly. “But I’d rather face what’s next with you than without you.”
That shouldn’t have undone me the way it did, but it did. The simplicity of it, the quiet certainty. He tugged gently at my sleeve, wordless. I went willingly.
We didn’t talk much after that. Words felt too small for what was happening between us. We just existed, quiet and close, as if our bodies had already learned a language our mouths couldn’t keep up with.
He leaned back against the headboard, and I settled beside him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh against thigh. The warmth of him seeped into me, grounding and steady.
His hand found mine again, fingers lacing through like it was something he’d done a hundred times before. Like he’d never stopped.
“How are you feeling?” I asked after a while, my voice low.
He tilted his head toward me, his lashes heavy. “Like I could sleep for a week.”
“Then do that,” I said. “I’ll keep watch.”
He frowned, his thumb tracing idle circles on the back of my hand. “Kit, you need rest too.”
“Later,” I assured him.
He studied me for a long moment, like he could see every scar, every habit I’d never quite shaken.
Then he shifted closer, his shoulder brushing mine, his voice soft when he said, “You can rely on me too, you know. We’re in this together.”
That one hit deeper than I expected. I swallowed hard, eyes falling to our joined hands.
“Old habits,” I said quietly. “I’ll do better.”
“Alright,” he said simply, and leaned his head against my shoulder.
Outside, the faint light of dawn crept through the blinds, soft and gold against the walls.
I should’ve worried about the morning, about what came next. But all I could do was sit there, listening to Simon’s breathing grow slow and even as he drifted toward sleep.
He was safe. For now, that was enough. I brushed a strand of hair from his face, my thumb lingering against his temple.
“Sleep, Simon,” I murmured.
He made a quiet sound of acknowledgment but didn’t move. His hand stayed in mine, grip loose but sure.
The sunlight reached the edge of the curtains, spilling faint traces of warmth into the room. I closed my eyes for a moment.
I’d walked away from the Guild, from everything I’d been taught to protect. Yet, lying here, with Simon safe beside me, it didn’t feel like loss. It felt like the first real choice I’d ever made.
Later, after he’d fallen asleep, I sat by the window, watching the light shift from grey to gold. The motel parking lot was empty except for our van, and the sound of distant traffic hummed in the air.
I should’ve been thinking about next steps. How to cover our tracks, where to go, who might already be on our trail. But all I could think about was him.
Simon, asleep on that creaky motel bed, looking more at peace than he had any right to after tonight.
He wasn’t supposed to mean this much. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get attached again. The Guild trained that out of you. Attachment, emotion, anything that made you hesitate.
But I couldn’t unlearn him.
The thought came suddenly, unbidden. If this night had gone differently. if Marcus had won, if Simon hadn’t survived…
I shook my head.
The Guild wasn’t my family anymore. They never had been. They took what they wanted, obedience, blood, and loyalty. They gave nothing back.
But Simon gave me something I didn’t realize I’d been missing. Something real.
I turned away from the window, letting my gaze fall on him again. His hand was resting palm-up on the blanket, fingers slightly curled.
Without thinking, I went to him and sank down on the edge of the bed.
He stirred slightly when I touched his hand, eyes fluttering open. “Kit?”
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Come here,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
I hesitated for all of half a second before lying down beside him. His arm slid around my waist, his face pressing against my chest.
For the first time in what felt like years, the tension eased from my body. The noise in my head went quiet.
“I’m here,” I said softly.
He hummed something sleepy in response.
Outside, the world was waking up, birds calling, a truck rumbling down the highway, but inside this small, rundown room, time felt like it had stopped. It was just the two of us.
I knew, as sure as I’d ever known anything, that I wasn’t going back. Wherever Simon went next, I’d be there too.