Chapter Thirty-five Kade
I wake before her. It has become a habit while here. Either I don’t sleep at all, or I wake before her to check on her. Make sure she’s breathing. Make sure she’s still here. Make sure I didn’t dream her.
Curled into my side. Her hand on my chest. Right over my heart like she’s confirming it’s still beating. That I’m still real.
I stay still for a moment. Watch her sleep.
The slow rise and fall of her chest. The way her hair spills across the pillow. The absence of walls in her face when she sleeps.
No calculations.
No defenses.
Just her.
She is completely unaware of what she does to me.
The sight of her settles something violent in me. Calms it. Temporarily.
I slip out of bed carefully. Don’t wake her. She needs the rest. Her ribs are still healing.
I move through the cabin. Check the windows. The doors. The perimeter. Everything is clear. Quiet. Safe.
But as I move through the kitchen—
I notice. The fridge is getting bare. The cupboards too. We’re running low. On everything.
Eggs. Bread. Milk. Meat.
The basics. The things that keep us functioning. I need to go to town.
The thought makes my jaw clench.
I hate leaving her unattended. Even for an hour. Even knowing she’s safe.
The rational part of me understand it’s necessary. The rest of me hates it.
I push the feeling down. Focus on the practical. The small town is thirty minutes away. The bigger town is only fifteen. But the bigger town is riskier.
More cameras. More people. More chance of being recognized. Of being seen. Of being tracked.
The small town is safer. Quieter. Less likely to have surveillance. Less likely to have people who’d recognize us. Thirty minutes is worth the safety. Worth the distance.
I start the coffee. The machine hums. Gurgles. Fills the small space with warmth. With normalcy.
I pull out the skillet. Crack eggs into a bowl. Whisk them. The motion is meditative. Grounding. Simple. I add butter to the pan. Watch it melt. Sizzle. The eggs go in next. Scramble them. Slow. Controlled. Toast pops up from the toaster. Golden. Perfect.
I plate it all. Eggs. Toast. A simple breakfast.
But it’s ours. Domesticity should feel foreign to me. Instead it feels addictive.
Something I never thought I’d have. The kind of life I used to think was impossible for someone like me. But now—
Now I can’t imagine anything else. The footsteps are soft. I hear her before I see her. Amethyst emerges from the bedroom. Rubbing her eyes. Hair messy. Wearing one of my shirts. Nothing else. Just my shirt. And the sight of her cuts every thought off at the knees.
Looking at her too long feels dangerous.
The way the morning light hits her. The way she moves.
Slow. Sleepy. Unguarded. The way she looks at me.
Like I’m the only thing that matters. Like some ruined part of me recognizes her before the rest of me catches up.
Something restless in me settles. Satisfied. For now. Mine. She’s mine.
“Morning," she says.
Her voice is rough. Sleep-heavy. Dangerous.
“Morning," I reply. I gesture to the table. “I already checked the perimeter. Everything is clear."
She sits. Reaches for the coffee. Takes a sip. Eyes closing briefly. Relaxed. Trusting. Savoring it.
“But it’s time we run into town," I continue. “Get some supplies."
She opens her eyes. Looks at the food. Then at me.
“The fridge?"
“Getting bare."
“Cupboards?"
“Same."
She nods once. Already calculating.
“How long?"
“Hour. Maybe ninety minutes."
She considers this. I can practically see the gears turning behind her eyes.
Risk assessment.
Contingencies.
Exit strategies.
“I’ll stay here this time," she says finally. “I’m still pretty tired. And I want to see if there’s a way to set up some cameras along the outside of the house."
Every instinct in me wants to tell her no.
Come with me. Stay where I can see you. Stay where I can reach you.
I force the impulse down.
She’s capable. Armed. More dangerous than most people I’ll pass today.
“Want me to find some while I’m in town?" I ask.
“Yeah," she says. “Then we won’t have to go back early."
I nod. We sit down to eat. The eggs are still warm. The toast is still crispy. We eat in comfortable silence. Just being. Just existing. Together.
When we’re done I grab my coat, keys, and my phone. I check the air tag in my jacket pocket. Small. Discreet. Tracking device.
We found them in the small town weeks ago. Picked up a few. Sewn them into our jackets. Kept them in our pants pockets. Amethyst mentioned she could keep one in her bra if she wanted.
The thought should probably disturb me. It’ doesn’t.
Knowing where she is. Knowing I can reach her. Knowing nothing could happen to her without me finding out.
“You have your tag?" I ask.
She pats her pocket.
“Right here."
“And if something happens—"
“I’ll call. You’ll come. We’ll handle it." She says it with complete certainty.
Like there’s never been another outcome. Maybe we’ve survived enough to believe it now.
I walk to her. She stands. I pull her close. Kiss her.
Reassuring the part of me that still expects her to disappear, that she’s mine. That I’m coming back. That this—
This is temporary. Just a supply run. Just an hour. Just—
Necessary. She kisses me back. Soft. Reassuring.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I know.”
And I believe her.
I head for the door. Look back once.
She’s still standing in the kitchen. Wearing my shirt. Watching me.
Mine. The only thought going through my mind. She is mine.
I leave.
Lock the door, check it twice.
The truck waits outside. Keys in hand. Engine turning over beneath me. The tag sits in my pocket. Hers stays with her.
I back out of the driveway and head toward town. Thirty minutes there. Thirty minutes back. Then I’m home.
Back to her. Back to mine.
Twenty-two minutes later, the town appears. Quiet. Sleepy.
I pull into the grocery store parking lot. Pick a spot near the entrance. Not too close. Not isolated either. I grab a cart and head inside.
The fluorescent lights scrape against my skull. Too bright. Too exposed. I move through the aisles methodically. Running through the list in my head.
Eggs.
Milk.
Bread.
Butter.
Vegetables.
Fruit.
Canned goods.
Protein.
I’m check every aisle twice. Make sure nothing’s missed. The cabin is isolated. Running out isn’t an option. Need enough to last. I turn into the meat section.
Bacon.
Ground beef.
Chicken.
Steak.
I load the cart.
Protein is very necessary. She needs it. For healing. For strength. For—
I stop.
The next aisle. Feminine hygiene. Pads. Tampons. Shelves full of them. I stare. And something twists sharp beneath my ribs.
I’ve never noticed before.. Never asked. Does she get periods? Of course she does. Most women do. Biological. Normal.
But we’ve never talked about it. The thought snags. Catches. What else haven’t we talked about? What else don’t I know.
I keep walking.
My mind turning too fast.
Kids.
We’ve never talked about kids.
Not once.
What if she wants them? What if she expects-
Every violent instinct in me recoils.
No. Not safe. I’m not safe.
I know that the rage, the impulses, the violence sitting just beneath the surface of my skin. wait for one bad second.
A child-
Small. Fragile. Trusting.
The thought makes my chest tighten. I’ve never hurt a child. Never wanted too. But me as a father?
Wrong.
I’d ruin something that soft eventually. Maybe not with my hands. Maybe not intentionally. But damage spreads from people like me.
I finish the shopping. Move through the checkout. Pay. Load the truck.
My thoughts are still spiraling.
Kids.
The word keeps catching like a hook beneath my ribs. We need to talk about it. Need to know what she wants. What she sees when she looks at a future with me in it.
I pull out of the parking lot and head toward the electronics store.
Then I see it.
A jewelry store.
Small.
Quiet.
Wedged between a coffee shop and a bookstore. I slow the truck and idle at the curb while I stare through the front windows.
And something in me locks onto it.
Not soft. Not romantic. Instinct. The same instinct that makes me mark her skin with my mouth and teeth.
I kill the engine and get out. I step inside and a bell chimes overhead.
The shop is mall. Tight. Glass cases lining the walls. Rings. Necklaces. Watches. Everything glittering beneath warm yellow light.
I move to the rings. Look. Most of them feel wrong immediately. Too bright. Too clean. Too delicate. Like they were made for someone else’s woman.
Not her.
An older man emerges from the back room wiping his hands on a cloth.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “Didn’t hear the bell.”
“That’s fine.”
My attention stays on the glass.
“I’m looking for a ring.”
His expression shifts instantly. Warmer. Knowing.
“For your girl?”
My jaw tightens slightly at the words.
“Yeah.”
He smiles.
“What kind are you thinking?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The admission feels strange. I study another ring. Silver band. Clear stone. Fragile-looking. Wrong.
“I’ve never bought jewelry before,” I say.
He nods like he understands that.
“Well, start with her.”
“Dark things.”
The answer comes immediately. His brows lift. I continue before he he can speak.
“I was thinking amethyst stones,” I say. “With some dark rubies or black diamonds with it.”
Not soft colors. Not delicate. Something sharp. Something that looks expensive enough to bleed for. Something that looks like hers.
He whistles low.
“That’s a dangerous combination,” he says. “Amethyst. Black diamonds. Rubies.”
Good.
Dangerous fits her better than delicate ever would.
“I don’t have anything like that already made,” he continues, “but I do have loose stones. Used to make custom pieces years ago.”
He studies me for a second.
“We could sketch something out. Build exactly what you want.”
The offer catches me off guard.
Because for the first time since walking in, I realize I don’t want just some ring. I want a ring that screams what she is.
“I don’t want to waste your time.”
The old man snorts softly.
“Son, I own a jewelry store in a town this small. Time’s one thing I’ve got plenty of.”
Something about that almost pulls a smile out of me.
Almost.
We move to a work bench in the back. He lays out paper. Pencils. Stone samples. And I start describing it.
Dark band.
Clean lines.
Nothing fragile about it.
Amethysts set deep into black metal. Black diamonds around them Rubies underneath. Hidden unless someone looks closely.
A ring that looks beautiful from a distance, dangerous up close.
Exactly like her.
He sketches while I talk. Adjust proportions. Changes cuts. Adds weight to the band.
I keep staring at the drawing. Not because it’s jewelry. But because it looks like ownership.
Forty-five minutes disappear like that.
Building something for her. Something that says what I don’t know how to say without sounding insane.
Mine.
When he finishes, he slides the sketch toward me.
I stare at it. And for the first time since walking in, something settles inside my chest.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
That’s hers.
The jeweler watches my face and smiles a little.
“She’s going to loose her mind when she sees this.”
Maybe.
Or maybe she’ll understand exactly what it means.
“How much?”
He gives me a number.
Fair.
“When can you make it?”
“Two weeks,” he says. “Maybe three. Depends on the stones.”
“That works.”
I give him my number. He writes it down carefully. Precise. Deliberate.
“I’ll call when it’s ready,” he says.
I nod once.
“Thank you.”
Then I leave. The bell chimes behind me as I step back into the cold air. The ring exists now. Not on her hand yet. But real. Planned.
Soon.
Closer than she realizes.
I’m back in the truck within seconds. Start the engine and pull into traffic. My chest feels tighter than before. Restless energy under my skin.
Anticipation. Maybe.
I stop at the electronics store next. Head straight for the camera section. Outdoor models. Weatherproof. Motion detection. Night vision.
Good.
I grab a six-pack system and head for checkout. I pay, load the truck, then check out the time. I’ve been gone longer than I intended. The instinct inside me starts clawing again. Wants eyes on her. Wants proof she’s still there.
Still safe. Still mine.
I pull out my phone and call her. She answers on the second ring.
“Hey.”
Her voice settles something ugly in me immediately.
Calm. Steady. Alive.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” I say. “I found the cameras and I—"
The words almost slip out about the ring.
I swallow them back down.
Not yet.
“And you what?”
“Nothing. I’m heading back now.”
“Okay,” she says softly.“Drive safe."
“Always."
I end the call and pull out of the parking lot. Thirty minutes. That’s all. Thirty minutes and I’m back with her. Back where I belong.