Chapter 44 Ethan
Ethan
The safehouse feels different now.
Not empty.
Not tense.
Just… still.
Like everything finally stopped long enough to breathe.
Ava sits on the edge of the bed again.
Same place as before.
But nothing about this feels the same.
Her skin is pale.
Her shoulders a little heavier.
But her eyes—
still sharp.
Still here.
Alive.
That’s what matters.
I stand in front of her, arms crossed out of habit more than control.
Because control is the last thing I feel right now.
“You should be resting.”
She gives me a look.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep ignoring it.”
A faint smile touches her mouth.
There it is.
That spark.
Still fighting through everything.
“I’m not good at sitting still.”
“I know.”
I step closer.
Close enough to see the strain she’s hiding.
The way she holds herself just a little too carefully.
My hand lifts.
Slower this time.
Giving her space.
Giving her the chance to stop me.
She doesn’t.
I brush my fingers lightly along her jaw.
“You scared me.”
The words come out quiet.
No edge.
No armor.
Her eyes soften instantly.
“I know.”
“That wasn’t okay.”
“I didn’t plan on getting shot again.”
My jaw tightens.
“Let’s make that a habit you don’t repeat.”
A soft huff of laughter escapes her—
then she winces.
Barely.
But I catch it.
I always do.
“Lie back,” I say.
This time softer.
Less command.
More… care.
She studies me for a second.
Like she’s deciding something.
Then—slowly—
she lowers herself onto the pillow.
I adjust it behind her.
Careful.
Too careful.
My fingers brush near the bandage—
she flinches.
Small.
Quick.
But it’s there.
“Still hurts.”
“Little bit.”
I don’t like that.
Not even close.
My hand lingers—
then slides down—
finding hers.
I lace our fingers together.
Hold on.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
Her gaze locks onto mine.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then—
quieter—
“I don’t know how to not be that person anymore.”
That lands deeper than anything else.
I sit beside her.
Close enough that there’s no space left for distance.
“You don’t have to be that person with me.”
Her breath catches.
“And who am I with you?”
I don’t think.
Don’t filter.
“Mine.”
The word comes out before I can soften it.
Before I can pull it back.
Her eyes widen slightly.
Just a flicker.
But she doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t shut down.
Her fingers tighten in mine instead.
“Careful,” she murmurs. “That sounds like a promise.”
I lean closer.
Voice low.
“It is.”