Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
LITTLE GIRL GONE
HAZEL
Iwake up expecting fear to be the first thing I feel—that familiar jolt of panic snapping me upright before my brain can catch up—but instead there’s sunlight.
For a moment, I just lie there, listening to the quiet hum of the house, the distant sound of movement somewhere down the hall, and I realize that my body doesn’t hurt the way I thought it would.
I’m sore, yes, and tired in a deep, bone-weary way, but the sharp edge of terror is gone, replaced by something steadier.
Safety.
The word settles over me like a blanket I didn’t realize I was still clutching. Something I really haven’t felt in quite a long time.
I sit up slowly, testing myself, waiting for the room to tilt or my chest to tighten, but it doesn’t.
My thoughts are clearer than they were last night, less jagged, and for the first time since everything went wrong, I don’t feel like I’m made of glass.
Whatever Zack did—whatever combination of patience, care, and stubborn refusal to let me fall apart alone—it worked.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stretch, feeling like myself again.
Not the bright mask version, but the real one underneath who still wants to laugh, move, and feel the world instead of hiding from it.
I find him in the kitchen, because of course I do.
He’s leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee, dark circles under his eyes and tension still etched into his shoulders like he hasn’t quite given himself permission to relax yet.
When he looks up and sees me standing there, hair a mess, wrapped in an over-sized shirt that definitely does not belong to me, something in his expression shifts so fast it almost makes my throat tight again.
“Morning,” I say lightly, because I can. Because I want to. “Please tell me that’s coffee and not some terrifying survival protein shake.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Coffee. I’m not a monster.”
“Good,” I reply, padding closer. “Because I’m feeling remarkably human today, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
He watches me like he’s checking for cracks, but I give him a smile that isn’t forced—one that feels earned—and finally his shoulders ease just a fraction.
He hands me a mug without comment, already knowing how I take it, and I lean against the counter beside him, soaking in the normalcy of the moment.
I’m aware that what I’ve gone through would break most people.
I’m aware that I’ve gone through isn’t anything that would happen to most people.
Most people would crumble and fall apart—that’s not me, I don’t have that luxury.
“That shower last night helped,” I admit quietly. “And you staying. Thank you.”
He nods once, uncomfortable with praise but accepting it anyway. “How do you feel?”
I take a sip, considering it honestly. “Like I survived something. And like I don’t want to let it turn me into someone smaller.”
His gaze sharpens at that, something like approval flickering there, and I feel a spark of warmth bloom in my chest. This is the version of me I missed—the one who doesn’t just endure but pushes back.
That’s when I notice it.
Through the back window of the kitchen, partially obscured by the angle and the morning glare, there’s a shape that absolutely does not belong to the rest of the safehouse’s careful anonymity. Sleek. Dark. Familiar in a way that makes my pulse jump.
“Is that a motorcycle?” I ask, already halfway to the glass.
Zack goes very still. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m extremely serious,” I say, pressing my hands to the window like a kid spotting something shiny. “You had a motorcycle this whole time and didn’t think to mention it?”
“This is not the day for that,” he replies immediately. “You were kidnapped less than twenty-four hours ago.”
“And yet,” I counter, turning back to him with a grin that feels dangerously alive, “I am standing, caffeinated, and feeling significantly better than expected. Which feels like a sign.”
He studies me for a long moment, weighing risk against reality, and I soften just a bit, stepping closer. “I don’t want to run,” I say gently. “I just want to feel the air again. I want to feel the world around me and not feel like I was been trapped for two days in a dark storage container.”
His jaw tightens, but I can see the conflict there, the way he wants to protect me from everything and also understands exactly what I’m asking for. Finally he exhales, letting his shoulders fall just ever so slightly, and I grin.
“If you even start to feel off—”
“I will tell you,” I promise immediately. “No pretending. No pushing.”
Another pause. Then, “Helmet stays on. I don’t drive like an idiot.”
I beam. “I knew I liked you.”
The ride is everything I hoped it would be.
The engine vibrates beneath us, solid and alive, and when we pull onto the open road and the wind tears past us, I laugh out loud without meaning to, the sound ripped free from my chest by sheer momentum.
I wrap my arms around him instinctively, not out of fear, but because it feels right.
Because being close to him like this feels grounding instead of confining.
For the first time since everything went wrong, my head clears completely.
No walls. No shadows. Just motion, sunlight, and the steady presence of the man in front of me, carrying us forward without hesitation.
I feel free for the first time in forever, forgetting everything that’s been going on, but I know things aren’t the same anymore.
And quite frankly, I don’t really think I want them to be the same, either.