Chapter 33
Grim
Sophia didn’t move for a long time.
She sat on the hallway floor wrapped in a towel, knees pulled tight to her chest, breath still uneven from the panic that had chased her out of the bathroom.
The house was quiet, but not the comforting kind; it was the kind of quiet that made her ears ring, the kind that made every shadow feel like it was watching.
Grim stayed beside her.
Not touching. Not crowding. Just there.
His presence was a steady heat at her side, a silent anchor in a world that still felt like it was tilting beneath her feet. He kept his breathing slow, controlled, like even the sound of it might startle her.
Sophia wiped at her face with the edge of the towel, her hands trembling. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she didn’t seem to know what she was apologizing for — the panic, the flinch, the way her body betrayed her at every turn.
“You don’t owe me an apology,” Grim said quietly. “Not for any of this.”
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. But he heard the strain under it. The fear. The anger, not at her, but at what had been done to her.
Sophia swallowed hard. “I’m just… tired.”
Grim nodded once. “Then let’s get you somewhere comfortable.”
She didn’t want the bedroom. Too dark. Too many corners. Too much space for her mind to wander.
“The couch,” she murmured.
Grim didn’t question it. Didn’t try to steer her anywhere else.
He stood slowly, giving her space, and followed her into the living room. Sophia walked like her bones were made of glass, each step careful, hesitant, as if the floor might give out beneath her.
She curled onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest. Grim grabbed the soft blue blanket draped over the back and settled it around her shoulders with slow, deliberate movements, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
Her breath shuddered out of her, a small, broken sound she tried to swallow.
Grim lowered himself to the floor beside the couch, back against the frame. Close enough that she’d know he was there. Far enough that she wouldn’t feel boxed in. He could feel the tremor in her exhale, the way she kept trying to breathe steady and couldn’t quite get there.
Her eyes fluttered. Her shoulders dipped. Exhaustion dragged her under, slow and heavy.
He watched it happen.
She fought sleep — he could see it in the tight set of her jaw, the twitch of her fingers under the blanket he’d wrapped around her. But her body was done. Burned out. Running on fumes and adrenaline that had finally run dry.
Her knees loosened from their tight curl as she sagged sideways.
Her weight shifted.
She listed toward him.
Grim moved before she could slump too far. He pushed off the floor, bracing a hand on the couch frame and hauling himself up to sit on the edge. Close enough to catch her. Careful enough not to startle her.
Her head found his thigh a second later.
Warm breath seeped through the denim of his jeans. Her cheek settled like something fragile, something he had no business touching but couldn’t pull away from without letting her fall.
Grim held himself still, every muscle locked.
Her fingers curled near his knee, twitching every so often like she was reaching for something in whatever dream had taken her. He stared at her hand, at the way it rested against him like she trusted him without meaning to.
She hadn’t fallen asleep because she felt safe. He knew that. Her body had simply quit — and somehow, she’d quit right against him.
He stayed where he was. His leg went numb. His back ached. Shadows stretched across the room as night settled in, the lamp in the corner casting a faint glow over her face.
He kept one hand hovering near her shoulder, not touching, just close enough to catch her if she startled awake.
He tracked each breath she took, the small tremors that rippled through her when a car passed outside. The rhythm settled into him, steadying something he hadn’t realized was shaking.
Sleep didn’t come close. He couldn’t afford it.
Every time her breath hitched, his heart stopped. Every soft whimper cracked something in him. The memory of almost losing her lived under his skin like a second heartbeat.
He’d carried men out of burning buildings. Held brothers as they bled. Buried people he loved.
None of it compared to the terror of seeing her in that cage.
The damp concrete still clung to him. The scrape of metal still echoed in his skull. And the way she’d looked at him — uncertain, disbelieving, like hope was something she wasn’t sure she was allowed to touch — he saw it every time he blinked.
His jaw tightened.
He’d kill any man who touched her. Any man who looked at her wrong. Any man who breathed in her direction. He’d burn the world down before he let her feel that fear again.
Sophia shifted in her sleep, curling closer, brushing his thigh. Her fingers grazed his leg like she was anchoring herself to him without knowing it.
Grim’s breath caught.
He kept his hands to himself. Held still. Wanted nothing from her except this — her breathing, her presence, her being alive.
Hours slid by.
Outside, the sky softened from black to gray to the faintest hint of dawn. Pale light crept through the curtains, brushing over Sophia’s face.
Grim exhaled for the first time in hours.
She murmured something in her sleep and curled even closer.
Grim closed his eyes.
He didn’t sleep. But for the first time since he’d found her, he let himself breathe.