38. You can always come to me
He averts his eyes this time, moving around the cramped space to find a cap.
He pulls it on, tilting the brim low over his face.
I think we're being optimistic by believing we won't get caught, but I also have the strongest urge to finally see my Aunt again.
I miss her.
"You ready?" he asks me, the black cap pulled so deep over his head I can't even make out half his face.
"Yes. You sure you can see with that on?"
"Don't worry about it."
He doesn't say anything more, just crosses the small room toward me and gently takes my hand to pull me toward the station's exit.
"Why do you have the military uniforms in the first place?"
"Well, because we needed them during the time of the Crisis, and we still do."
Still do? Wait a minute. Why?
"Why?" I manage to get out, my curiosity now on another level. Are the wolves planning something right now?
"Can't really tell you, other than it has something to do with the Reserve."
"The Reserve?"
"Yes." He's quiet after that, and I get the feeling he doesn't want to talk about it anymore.
The Reserve in general is a... let's just say sensitive topic. You don't have to be human to understand that.
But still, to know they're somehow still operating among humans, unknown...it's actually impressive.
When he pushes the old handle open, we step into another underground tunnel. It's completely dark, and I grab both sides of my hips to keep from stumbling around.
The air here is cooler and carries the scent of earth and mud.
Suddenly he turns around and just lifts me up like I weigh nothing at all.
Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.
"What are you doing?" A surprised laugh escapes me.
His hands settle securely under my thighs, and I can feel the warmth of his chest against mine. "Faster this way," he mumbles.
He turns again, carrying me with steady confidence through the dark tunnels. His footsteps echo softly against the smooth walls, and I find myself relaxing into his embrace.
"Liar." I whisper in his ear.
"Yes," he admits right away. "I might not get another opportunity to hold you again."
"What? Why would you say that?"
"If everything goes well, Miller will finally get the consequences, and you'll be free to go wherever you want."
"What about us?" I almost whisper, because his words somehow set something in my chest on fire.
The thought of being separated from him makes me... nervous and restless.
Look at me—already way too attached. Fantastic.
I think he can feel my heartbeat picking up, or my energy, or maybe he can actually sense my feelings of discomfort, because he stops walking.
Even though I can barely make out his eyes under the cap, I can feel his hold shift. He supports me with one arm while the other gets lost in my hair.
"I didn't mean it like that, Communicator."
"What did you mean then?" I ask hesitantly.
"I just meant you'll be free—free to do whatever you want," he says, his voice rough. "But you can always come h—" He stops himself. "You can always come to me."
"Really?"
"Yes, I would really like that, love."
He leans in and gives me a soft, quick kiss on the lips—gentle and brief, but it makes my heart skip anyway.
We continue through the winding tunnels, the musty air growing fresher as we move forward. Eventually, he stops in front of what looks like a dead end—I can make out rough stone and roots hanging down in the darkness.
Still holding me with one arm wrapped securely around my waist, he pushes against a section of the wall with his free hand. It gives way, revealing a narrow opening disguised as an old tree stump.
We emerge into daylight, and I blink rapidly, disoriented by the sudden brightness. The fresh air hits my face.
As my eyes adjust, I can make out where we are—somewhere between the Reserve and the distant outline of Central City's skyline.
He sets me down gently.
I look around, trying to get my bearings. "I need a second to figure out where we are."
We start walking, our feet crunching through fallen leaves and snapping twigs.
In the distance, I spot two guards patrolling near what looks like a checkpoint.
My whole body goes rigid.
"Keep walking," he murmurs, but I'm already frozen in place.
The guards notice us. One of them raises his hand slightly, and without thinking, I jerk my arm up and wave back.
"Good day!" I call out, my voice pitched too high.
Fuck me, I hate lying. And I'm clearly terrible at it—case in point.Can't even do it when someone stares at me from miles away.
The guards exchange confused looks—one tilting his head like he's trying to figure out what's wrong with me—but after a moment they continue on their route.
"Smooth," he says, a soft chuckle caught just beneath his breath after they're out of earshot.
"I panicked."
"I noticed."
As we walk deeper into the woods, things start looking familiar.
The huge stone, shaped like a human covered in moss, and the small stream running alongside the path—I used to come here as a kid. I'd float sticks down the river, pretending they were boats, racing them through the bends.
"I know where we are now," I tell him, leading the way. "My aunt's place is just through those trees, up the hill."
We climb the gentle slope, pushing through overgrown bushes until I see it—the old treehouse I used to play in, still wedged between two massive pines, its wooden planks weathered gray.
"I built that with my aunt when I was 14," I say, pointing up at it.
"It's still standing."
"Barely." But seeing it makes my chest tight with memories. "Come on, she's just through those trees."
We approach the small cottage, its windows dark. Everything looks too quiet.
"Normally there would be lights."
"Maybe she's not home?" he suggests.
I walk up to the front door and knock. "Auntie? It's me."
But as my knuckles hit the wood, the door swings open with a long, drawn-out creak.
"That's not good," I whisper.
"No," he agrees, stepping closer behind me.
I push the door open wider and step inside. The smell hits me first—stale air mixed with something else... disinfectant, maybe?
Furniture is overturned, drawers pulled out and emptied onto the floor. Books are scattered everywhere, their pages torn. The kitchen table lies on its side, one leg broken off completely.
"Fuck," he breathes behind me.
But I'm already moving, rushing into the next room. "Where are you? Please, where are you?"
The living room is worse—cushions slashed open, stuffing everywhere, the old family photos that used to line the table shattered across the floor.
"Hello? Anyone here?" I'm running now, checking every room, my voice getting higher, more desperate.
The bedrooms are destroyed too. Mattresses flipped, clothes strewn about, even the floorboards pried up in places.
"NO! NO, NO, NO!" I scream, my voice cracking, echoing through the empty house.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. "Hey, hey."
I resist at first.
"Communicator," he says, holding me tight and pressing me against him.
"No, let me go—I have to check the attic."
"Communicator." This time his voice carries authority that sends a shiver through me, and I freeze in his arms. "I can't smell anyone else here but us."
Fuck. What is happening?
I stop fighting and lean back against him, my whole body shaking. When I finally turn around in his arms, we look at each other. The realization hits me.
"Miller," I whisper.
His jaw clenches, and I see the anger flicker in his eyes. "Miller."