Chapter 78 Ava
Ava
Iwake slowly.
For one soft, precious second, I don’t know why my body feels heavy or why there’s warmth wrapped around me from behind.
Then Ethan’s arm tightens over my waist.
Memory comes back in pieces.
The bunker.
Hayes.
The cliff.
The helicopter.
The way I cried so hard last night it felt like something inside me finally tore open and bled clean.
But this—
this is not that.
This is morning light slipping through the curtains in pale gold bands. This is clean sheets. This is Ethan’s chest warm against my back and his breath moving softly at the nape of my neck.
This is safety.
My throat still aches.
My side still hurts.
But the panic I expected isn’t there.
I lie still for a while, just feeling the weight of him holding me.
The steadiness.
The fact that no one is coming through that door.
No one is watching.
No one owns this moment but us.
A strange tightness hits my chest.
Not fear.
Something gentler.
Something almost too big to name.
Ethan stirs behind me. His hand shifts slightly against my stomach, like some part of him is checking without waking that I’m still here.
I cover his hand with mine.
He goes still.
Then his voice, rough with sleep: “Morning.”
My mouth softens before I can stop it. “Morning.”
He presses a kiss to the back of my shoulder. “How bad?”
I blink. “How bad what?”
“Pain.”
The question is so immediate, so Ethan, that it nearly makes me laugh.
I tilt my head enough to glance back at him. His hair is a mess, his face still lined with sleep, and somehow he still looks like he could kill a room full of men before breakfast.
“Manageable,” I say.
His eyes narrow slightly. “That’s vague.”
“It means I’m sore and bruised and I would like to formally complain about all my life choices.”
That gets the smallest ghost of a smile from him.
He shifts carefully, propping himself up enough to see me better. “Headache?”
“A little.”
“Dizzy?”
“No.”
“Any—”
I reach up and cover his mouth with my hand.
He stops talking instantly.
Those green eyes lock on mine.
Too awake now.
Too aware.
I can feel the smile trying to tug at my own mouth. “Do you come with an off switch?”
He kisses the center of my palm.
The contact is so warm and unexpected it sends a little spark through me.
My hand drops.
“No,” he says. “But I come with concern.”
“I noticed.”
He studies my face for a second longer, probably checking for cracks I don’t even know I’m wearing. Then his hand comes up and brushes a strand of hair from my cheek.
The tenderness of it still catches me off guard.
Not because I doubt him.
Because I’m still learning how to be on the receiving end of something that doesn’t ask for a price.
“You slept,” he says quietly.
I nod. “I did.”
“Nightmares?”
I hesitate.
Not because I had one.
Because I didn’t.
“No,” I whisper.
Something deep in his expression changes.
Not surprise exactly.
Relief.
The kind that cost him something.
He leans in and presses his forehead to mine. “Good.”
I close my eyes.
For a moment, we just stay like that.
Breathing.
No rush.
No fight.
No blood.
The room is so quiet it almost feels sacred.
Then my stomach growls.
Loudly.
I freeze.
Ethan goes silent for half a beat.
Then he laughs.
A real laugh.
Low and helpless and sleepy.
I stare at him. “You are not allowed to enjoy that.”
“Too late.”
“I’ve been through a lot.”
“You have.”
“My body is trying to recover.”
“It is.”
“It’s very rude that it announced that in the middle of an emotional moment.”
His eyes are warm now. Lighter than I’ve seen them in… maybe ever. “I don’t know. I found it kind of perfect.”
I narrow my eyes. “I regret surviving you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The terrible thing is, I don’t.
Not even a little.
A knock sounds at the door before I can answer.
We both go still.
The old reflex flashes through me before I can stop it—alert, braced, calculating.
Ethan feels it instantly.
His hand slides to the back of my neck. “Hey.”
I force myself to breathe.
The knock comes again, followed by Aaron’s muffled voice. “Before Cross shoots the door, Ronan sent food.”
I exhale.
Ethan closes his eyes briefly like he’s one second from violence anyway. “You have terrible survival instincts.”
“Love you too,” Aaron calls through the door. “There’s coffee out here and I know one of you is weak enough to care.”
“I care,” I say immediately.
Ethan looks at me. “You’re not having coffee before food.”
I stare back at him. “You are deeply controlling.”
He deadpans, “You can file a complaint later.”
Aaron’s voice comes again. “I’m enjoying this more than I should.”
“Go away,” Ethan says.
“Not until I know you opened the door.”
I shift carefully, wincing only a little as I sit up against the pillows. Ethan is moving before I ask, grabbing a shirt from the chair and dragging it over his head.
The motion pulls at his side.
I see the tightness in his jaw.
“You okay?” I ask.
He glances back. “Yes.”
I give him a look.
He gives me one right back.
Then he opens the door.
Aaron stands there with a tray loaded with toast, eggs, fruit, water, and two coffees.
He takes one look at Ethan and grins. “Wow. You look terrible.”
Ethan takes the tray from him. “Keep talking.”
Aaron leans slightly to see around him. “Morning, Ava.”
“Morning.”
He softens just a little. “You look better.”
“That’s because I’m horizontal and being bossed around.”
“Excellent medical strategy.”
Ethan starts shutting the door.
Aaron catches it with two fingers. “Ronan wants you both downstairs in an hour. Jonah found something.”
The air changes instantly.
I feel it.
So does Ethan.
Aaron’s grin fades. “Eat first.”
Then he lets the door shut.
Ethan carries the tray back over and sets it on the bed between us.
Coffee.
Glorious, beautiful coffee.
I reach for it.
His hand catches my wrist.
“Food first.”
I look at him.
He looks at me.
I grab a piece of toast with my free hand without breaking eye contact.
Only when I take a bite does he release me.
“Happy?” I ask around the toast.
“Immensely.”
I take the coffee anyway.
The first sip is so good I nearly cry.
Ethan watches me with something soft and helpless in his face. “That serious?”
I lower the mug. “I’ve survived horror and somehow this still feels like the most emotional thing that’s happened to me.”
That gets a small laugh out of him.
He starts eating too, and for a few quiet minutes the room is filled with nothing but the clink of dishes and the rustle of sheets.
It feels domestic in a way that should probably scare me.
Instead it makes my chest ache.
Because I can see it too easily.
A life where mornings look like this.
Coffee.
Warm beds.
Ethan being annoyingly protective over breakfast.
The thought should feel impossible.
But last night, for the first time, impossible started to feel less absolute.
I take another bite, then glance at him. “You think Jonah found proof.”
Ethan’s mouth flattens. “Yeah.”
“About the others.”
“Probably.”
The lightness in the room dims, but it doesn’t disappear completely.
That matters.
He notices my expression and reaches over, brushing his thumb once over the back of my hand. “We don’t have to solve all of it in the next ten minutes.”
“No,” I say quietly. “But it means Hayes wasn’t the end.”
His gaze holds mine. “He was the end of one part.”
I think about that.
About endings that don’t close everything.
About wounds that stop bleeding before they stop hurting.
Then I nod.
Because he’s right.
Hayes is dead.
That matters.
Even if the wreckage he built is still out there.
“Okay,” I say.
He studies me. “Okay?”
I take another sip of coffee. “Okay means I eat breakfast, try not to murder anyone, and then go downstairs and find out what kind of nightmare Jonah has waiting for us.”
His mouth curves. “That’s my girl.”
The words hit me in the center of the chest.
Not ownership.
Not control.
Something rougher and sweeter and far more dangerous.
I lower the mug slowly. “You say things like that on purpose?”
He looks almost surprised by the reaction in me. “No.”
Which somehow makes it worse.
Or better.
Definitely better.
I look away before he sees too much.
Too late probably.
It’s Ethan.
He sees everything.