Chapter Twenty
THE DOOR CLICKED softly behind us, shutting out the noise of the clubhouse. The sudden hush felt almost foreign after the laughter, clinking glasses, and loud rumble of voices that filled the common room.
Here, there was only the faint hum of air through the vent, the creak of the floorboards beneath our boots, and the thrum of my pulse in my ears.
I set the bag on the bed, hands trembling a little as I opened it again. The sight of what was inside made my chest tighten in ways I hadn’t expected.
Clothes. Folded neatly. A brush. A couple of books with crisp spines.
Small things. Ordinary things. But for me, they weren’t small at all.
I touched them slowly, brushing fingertips across the fabric like they might disappear if I wasn’t careful. It had been years since I’d had something that was mine—truly mine.
When I turned back, Ashen was still there.
He leaned near the door, shoulders filling the frame, the leather of his cut shifting when he crossed his arms. His gaze was grounded, unblinking but unreadable, and it pinned me in place.
He cleared his throat and pushed off the door. For a moment, I thought he might leave, but instead his hand dipped into his cut. When it came out, he held a small box.
He crossed the room and set it on the bed. No explanation. No demand. Just quiet expectation.
I stared at it. My heart thudded harder.
A box meant something deliberate. A gift.
I didn’t move at first. My mind spun, questioning why he’d bring me something beyond what I needed. Nobody had ever done that.
Not since I was seventeen.
After my parents died, I’d stopped expecting things like gifts. Birthdays blurred into empty days. Holidays passed unnoticed. I learned to take care of myself, to keep my wants small and silent, because wanting only ever led to disappointment.
And when Venom took me… gifts came twisted, cruel things meant to remind me I was his possession. His pet.
I hadn’t been given anything kind in so long, I didn’t know how to reach for it now.
Still, my fingers trembled toward the box, picked it up, and lifted the lid.
Inside was a bird.
Glass, delicate, wings stretched wide mid-flight. Light from the window struck its curves, scattering tiny rainbows across the walls. It shimmered in my hand, fragile yet somehow stronger than it looked, like it might lift into the air if I just let go.
My breath hitched.
I slid it carefully into my palm. Cool and smooth against my skin, heavier than it looked.
Not paper.
Not fragile folds that could crumple at the brush of a finger.
Something meant to last.
Ashen’s voice broke the silence, low and rough. “Figured you’d like it.”
The words cracked me open.
He knew how much birds had come to mean to me. He’d seen the birds I folded again and again, fragile wings waiting for a freedom they could never have. And he’d answered them with this.
Tears welled, hot, and I blinked hard, pressing my thumb along the glass wing.
My throat ached with words I couldn’t push out. Thank you. It’s beautiful. You don’t know what this means. But the sounds snagged behind my ribs, locked away like always.
Ashen shifted, like he meant to step back, to give me space.
Something inside me panicked at the thought of him leaving.
Before I could second-guess, before I could talk myself down, I moved. My body carried me forward, crossing the space between us in a rush that startled even me.
I pressed into him, my arms wrapping around his middle, my cheek against the hard leather of his cut.
It was clumsy. Impulsive. Terrifying.
But real.
For one frozen second, his body went still. The weight of his breath stalled, the warmth of him locked rigid under my hands. I almost pulled away. Almost.
Then his arms came around me. Strong. Careful. Steady.
He didn’t crush me close or hold me too tight. He just let me stay. Like he understood what it cost me to make this choice, to touch him, to let him touch me back.
The warmth of him seeped into me, grounding, solid. My chest shook with the force of everything I couldn’t say.
And then, almost without thinking, my lips brushed the edge of his ear. The words scraped raw from disuse, but they broke free.
“Thank you.”
A whisper. Rough. Small. But mine.
I felt him still. His breath caught, his chest lifting hard beneath my cheek. His arms tightened fractionally, protective, like this hug had landed harder than any declaration.
Terror and relief tangled in me at once. I’d given him another part of me.
I held on longer than I thought I would, longer than I thought I could. The glass bird pressed cool between my fingers, my lifeline tethered in one hand while his warmth anchored me from the other side.
When I finally pulled back, my eyes burned, my throat raw. His gaze caught mine, intense and soft, fierce and careful, like he understood exactly what I’d given him.
“Wren,” he said, my name rough in his throat. It wasn’t just my name. It was a vow. A promise. Something bigger than either of us could name yet.
I clutched the bird tighter. The silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. For the first time in since Venom first laid hands on me I felt happiness.