9. Jonah
Jonah
M orning creeps into the cabin in thin strips of gray light.
The storm passed sometime before dawn, leaving the mountains outside wrapped in heavy mist and dripping pine branches. Inside the bedroom, the silence feels strangely fragile.
I’m still in the same chair beside the bed.
Boots still on.
Weapon still within reach.
I closed my eyes once for maybe ten minutes.
That’s close enough to sleep.
Across the room, Sienna shifts beneath the blankets.
Small movement.
But I notice instantly.
Her breathing changes first.
Deeper.
More controlled.
Then comes the tension.
Subtle tightening through her shoulders as awareness snaps back into place.
The version of her that rested disappears again.
The one that survives returns.
Her eyes open slowly.
Focused immediately.
No confusion this time.
No fear.
Just calculation.
They land on me without surprise.
“You’re still here.”
I lean back slightly in the chair.
“Yeah.”
Sienna studies me for a long second in the dim morning light.
“You don’t sleep much.”
“Enough.”
One brow lifts faintly.
“Or not at all when you don’t trust the situation.”
I shrug once.
“That too.”
She pushes herself upright carefully, slower than she would’ve yesterday.
The movement pulls a tight breath from her when the injury in her side protests.
But she adjusts instead of ignoring it.
Progress.
Her gaze sweeps the room once before locking onto the small computer case sitting untouched on the table near the window.
“There it is,” I say before she can ask.
Sienna looks back toward me immediately.
“You went through it?”
“No.”
A pause.
“You could’ve.”
“But I didn’t.”
Something unreadable flickers across her face before she looks away again.
“You should’ve woken me.”
I watch her brace one hand carefully against the mattress before standing.
“You needed sleep.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“It was at three in the morning when you almost passed out standing up.”
Her lips press together.
Annoyed.
But not enough to argue hard.
Another first.
Sienna sits quietly on the edge of the bed for a second before speaking again.
“Thank you.”
The words come quieter now.
Like they cost her something.
I nod once.
“You’re welcome.”
That seems to throw her off more than the gratitude itself.
She looks at me again, studying me with the same careful focus she uses on systems and patterns.
Like she expects a catch somewhere in the conversation and can’t find one.
“You don’t do this,” she says finally.
“Do what?”
Her hand lifts vaguely between us.
“This.”
I frown slightly.
“Bandaging wounds?”
“No.” A faint exhale escapes her. “Caring.”
I lean forward, forearms resting against my knees.
“I care about people all the time.”
“No,” Sienna says softly. “You protect people. That’s different.”
That lands harder than I expect.
Because she isn’t entirely wrong.
The room stays quiet for a beat too long.
Then she adds—
“Men like you don’t stay.”
My jaw tightens slightly.
Old memories flicker briefly through my head.
Teammates buried overseas.
Promises broken by duty.
People left behind because the mission came first.
I shove all of it away.
“Good thing I’m still here then.”
Sienna’s eyes lift sharply to mine.
Searching again.
Testing whether I mean it.
“You say that now.”
“I mean it now.”
Neither of us looks away.
The silence between us shifts again.
Less defensive.
More aware.
Dangerously aware.
Sienna finally breaks eye contact first and stands slowly from the bed.
I’m on my feet before she fully straightens.
Instinct.
My hand hovers near her automatically as she steadies herself.
Not touching.
Ready if she needs me.
Sienna notices immediately.
Of course she does.
“You hover professionally,” she mutters.
“Years of training.”
That earns the faintest twitch near the corner of her mouth.
Almost a smile.
Gone too fast to fully count.
She takes one careful step toward the table where her computer case waits.
Then another.
Still slower than she wants.
Still favoring her side.
I notice every bit of it.
“You planning on staring at me all day?” she asks without turning around.
“Probably.”
This time the almost-smile lasts a little longer.
Then it disappears just as quickly, her focus locking onto the case instantly.
“The system won’t stay quiet for long.”
“There it is,” I mutter.
Sienna unlatches the case carefully and pulls the laptop free.
“HELIOS is already tracking movement patterns. Once they realize the extraction succeeded, they’ll start narrowing—”
“Eat first.”
She blinks at me.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t have time to eat.”
I cross my arms.
“You almost collapsed twice last night.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“That’s the opposite of irrelevant.”
Sienna opens her mouth to argue again—
Then stops.
I watch the shift happen in real time.
The recalculation.
The realization that I’m not backing down.
“You really believe the world can wait an hour,” she says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“That’s reckless.”
“Maybe.”
I step closer, lowering my voice slightly.
“Or maybe somebody should’ve told you a long time ago that you’re allowed to stop bleeding before you keep fighting.”
That hits.
Hard.
I see it instantly in the way her expression cracks for half a second before she recovers.
Too fast.
Too practiced.
Sienna looks down at the laptop in her hands instead of at me.
Outside, wind moves softly through the trees surrounding the cabin.
Inside, the silence stretches warm instead of tense.
Finally, she exhales slowly.
“We need to move soon.”
“We will.”
I hold her gaze when she looks back at me.
“But not yet.”
Another pause.
Then she repeats quietly—
“Not yet.”
And for the first time since I found her—
She doesn’t fight the idea of staying.