Chapter 32
Sophia
Sophia didn’t remember the drive home.
One moment she was in Grim’s arms, the world a blur of headlights, the growl of engines, and the metallic taste of fear still coating her tongue.
The next, she was standing in her own doorway, her house smelling like vanilla and cinnamon and old books — scents that should’ve wrapped around her like comfort.
Instead, they hit her like a punch.
Her knees wobbled. Her body locked up. Her ribs tightened like someone had cinched a belt around her chest.
Grim stayed behind her, a silent wall of heat and tension. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t speak. He just stood close enough that she could feel the weight of him, the steadiness of him, the way he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
She took one step inside.
Her house felt smaller than she remembered. The shadows deeper. The air heavier. The quiet too loud. She blinked hard, trying to anchor herself in the familiar, the framed photos on the wall, the soft throw blanket on the couch, the stack of books she’d meant to read.
But her body didn’t recognize any of it.
Her legs trembled again. Her vision blurred at the edges.
Grim moved, just a shift of weight, just a hand reaching toward her elbow to steady her—
And her body detonated.
Sophia flinched so violently she nearly stumbled backward, a strangled sound ripping from her throat. Her heart slammed against her ribs, her breath catching in a sharp, painful gasp.
For a split second, the room vanished.
Concrete walls. Cold metal. A hand grabbing her too hard, too fast. The scrape of a cage door. The echo of footsteps she couldn’t outrun.
“No.” The word tore out of her, raw and instinctive, before she could stop it.
Grim froze.
Absolutely still. Like he’d been carved from stone. Like he was afraid even breathing might break her.
His hand hovered in the air between them, fingers curled, knuckles white, every muscle in his arm pulled tight like he was holding back a storm.
Sophia pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to force air into her lungs. Her pulse thrashed under her skin, wild and uneven. “I’m… I didn’t mean… I just…”
“You don’t have to explain,” Grim said quietly.
His voice was low, rough, steady — the kind of steady that came from a man who’d learned how to hold himself together in the middle of chaos. He didn’t step closer. He didn’t reach for her again. He just stood there, anchored and unmovable, giving her space to breathe.
Sophia swallowed hard, shame burning hot under her skin. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Grim lowered his hand slowly, deliberately, like he was defusing a bomb. “You’ve been through enough. You react how you react.”
She looked at him then — really looked — and the guilt hit her like a punch. His eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t hurt. They were terrified.
Not of her. For her.
Her throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to pull away.”
“I know.” His jaw flexed, but his eyes stayed gentle. “I’ll move slower.”
Something inside her cracked, a small, fragile thing she’d been holding together with sheer will. The way he said it, like a promise instead of a burden, made her chest ache.
She nodded, still shaky. “Okay.”
Grim stepped back half a pace, giving her space, giving her control. “Tell me what you need.”
She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything except that she didn’t want him to leave. The thought of being alone in the quiet made her stomach twist.
“Just… stay close,” she whispered.
Grim’s shoulders eased, just barely. “Yeah. I can do that.”
Sophia stood there for a long moment after Grim stepped back, her breath still uneven, her pulse still thudding in her throat. The house felt too quiet, too still, like the walls were listening. Her skin buzzed with leftover adrenaline, every nerve ending raw and exposed.
She wrapped her arms around herself, not for warmth but to keep from shaking apart.
Grim didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t try again.
He just watched her with that steady, unblinking focus, the kind that made her feel seen and held without a single touch. It should’ve comforted her. Instead, it made her chest ache.
She needed to feel clean. She needed to wash the last of that place off her skin. She needed… something.
“I’m going to shower,” she whispered, though her voice barely carried.
Grim nodded once. “I’ll be right here.”
He didn’t ask if she needed help. He didn’t offer. He didn’t push.
He just gave her the choice.
Sophia turned toward the hallway, her legs still unsteady, her hand brushing the wall as she walked. The familiar creak of the floorboard under her feet made her flinch again, not as violently as before, but enough that she felt it in her bones.
The bathroom door felt heavier than it should’ve. The light switch clicked too loudly. The steam from the shower curled into the air like a ghost.
She closed the door halfway, not all the way; she couldn’t. The idea of being shut in, even for a moment, made her stomach twist.
She heard Grim shift outside, settling onto the floor with his back against the wall. Not guarding. Not hovering.
Just… there.
Her throat tightened.
She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t trapped. She wasn’t in the dark.
But her body didn’t know that yet.
Sophia stepped into the bathroom, the steam warming her skin, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of the room. She turned the water hotter than usual, hoping the heat would melt the tension out of her muscles, hoping it would wash away the memory of cold concrete and colder hands.
She stepped under the spray.
It lasted thirty seconds.
The moment the water hit her skin, warm, gentle, harmless, her breath seized.
Her chest tightened, sharp and sudden, like someone had wrapped a fist around her lungs.
The steam thickened the air, turning the small bathroom into a fogged-in box.
The walls felt too close. The ceiling too low. The air too heavy.
The sound of water hitting tile morphed into something else entirely.
Footsteps. Dripping pipes. Concrete. Cold metal. The scrape of a hinge. The echo of a door slamming shut.
Her hands shook so violently she dropped the soap. It hit the floor with a sharp slap that echoed too loudly, too much like—
SLAM.
Her knees buckled.
Her breath came in short, panicked bursts, each one thinner than the last. Her vision blurred, the steam twisting into shapes she didn’t want to see. Her skin crawled, every inch of her body remembering hands that weren’t Grim’s, voices that weren’t safe, darkness that didn’t end.
She grabbed the towel, wrapping it around herself with shaking hands, stumbling out of the bathroom before the walls could close in.
Her bare feet slapped against the hallway floor, her breath ragged, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
Grim was sitting on the floor outside the door.
Back against the wall. Arms resting on his knees. Head tipped back like he’d been listening for every sound she made.
His eyes snapped open the second she emerged.
He didn’t stand. Didn’t crowd her. Didn’t ask questions.
He just said, “Come here.”
Her throat tightened. Her legs moved before her mind caught up.
She sank down beside him, still wrapped in the towel, still shaking. The cool wall pressed against her back, grounding her just enough to breathe. Grim didn’t touch her, not until she leaned into him first, her shoulder brushing his.
Only then did he shift, slow and careful, letting his arm settle behind her without pulling her in.
She rested her forehead against her knees. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay in there.”
“You don’t have to,” Grim murmured. “Not tonight.”
His voice was low, steady, a quiet anchor in the storm still raging under her skin.
Not tonight. Not alone. Not ever again, if he had anything to say about it.
Sophia closed her eyes, letting herself breathe in the warmth of him, the steadiness of him, the safety she didn’t feel yet but desperately wanted to.
And Grim stayed right there, a silent sentinel in the dim hallway, holding the world back for her while she tried to remember how to exist in it.