Chapter 7
Sabine
The door slammed against the wall, a gust of cold air spilling into the living room.
My shoulders tensed as heavy boots crossed the threshold, each step carrying the weight of someone who belonged here more than I did.
A muscular frame filled the archway for an instant before the woman moved past, dark shirt stretched over shoulders built for lifting more than groceries.
Her forearms, knotted with black-and-gray ink, flexed as the paper handles cut into her fingers.
She gave me only a single nod. I nodded back, a reflex more than a greeting, but she kept moving.
Her gaze swept the room before returning to the path through the living room toward the kitchen.
There was a stillness to her even in motion, like she didn’t waste a single ounce of energy on anything unnecessary.
From where I sat, I could only see a sliver of the kitchen. I caught the edge of the counter and the edge of a porcelain sink. The woman disappeared into that space, the muted clink of jars and boxes landing on a hard surface marking her arrival.
More boots in the foyer, and this time Ellie passed through. She carried a tall stack of boxes. Steam and the scent of hot pizza curled from the gap in the top box. The sleeves of her dark shirt were pushed to her elbows, forearms steady under the load.
I shifted slightly, tracking her path. The warmth from the pizza pushed against the cooler air still clinging to the entry. The sound of cardboard hitting the counter joined the rustle of paper bags, followed by the sharper rip of plastic seals being torn open.
The scents layered quickly: garlic, tomato, and the yeasty comfort of fresh crust. I adjusted my position again, pulling my injured ankle closer so it rested more securely on the pillow.
The voices in the kitchen dropped low, just enough that I couldn’t catch the words.
A cupboard door opened, hinges squeaking softly before closing again.
I let my gaze rest on the kitchen’s edge, watching movement in the corner of my vision.
It struck me that they weren’t just unloading dinner.
This was a supply run. Groceries and essentials.
They were planning to be here for a while.
The thought sat heavy, a mix of reassurance and unease curling together in my chest.
I leaned back against the sofa cushion, my fingers curling over the blanket in my lap.
From the doorway to the kitchen, I could still hear the low rhythm of voices and the soft clatter of glass against stone.
They were making themselves at home. And, whether I liked it or not, so was I.
The cushion had warmed beneath me, and the smell of pizza lingered from the kitchen, making my stomach growl.
Another set of steps, lighter this time but steady. Kara appeared next to me. “Come on, let me help you to the table.”
I looked up at her. She seemed almost friendly now, her hand outstretched and her eyes softer than they’d been since we met.
I moved my good foot, pressing it into the rug for leverage.
My fingers caught the sofa’s edge as I started to push myself up.
The shift pulled at my ankle, a quick, hot ache that made me hesitate.
She closed the space between us, her arm coming around my waist in a smooth motion.
Her hand settled at the curve of my hip, the fabric of her jacket brushing my sweater before the heat beneath it began to seep through.
The pressure anchored me instantly. My balance adjusted around it, my body aligning to match the support.
I let my weight rest into her side, allowing the pain to ease enough that I could move. The contact was close enough that I could feel the difference in temperature: the cooler outer layer against my ribs, the warmth underneath finding its way through with each breath.
My hand landed against her side for balance. The muscle beneath the jacket shifted as she adjusted to me, her stance broad enough to take my weight without strain.
We didn’t move yet. Her arm stayed firm around me, holding just enough to keep me steady without making me feel trapped.
The kitchen door was only twenty steps away, but for that moment, we stayed right where we were, my awareness fixed on the solid line at my side and the quiet heat that came with it.
She took a step forward, and I hopped on my uninjured foot, leaning hard into her for support. Another step, then one more. The shift of her body was smooth, each step matched to mine without the smallest jolt.
“I don’t want you thinking I don’t care,” she said, her voice pitched low. “You are our responsibility, and I take that seriously.”
I shook my head before she could finish. “Don’t. It’s fine. I know what this is.” My hand tightened briefly on the fabric at her waist, more to keep from wobbling than to make a point. “You’re doing your job.”
She stopped, the smallest pause shifting her focus entirely to me.
Her hand moved from my waist, fingers finding the edge of my jaw, tilting my chin up.
Her eyes locked on mine, holding me in place like she’d forgotten herself for a moment.
Her eyes were an intense blue, pale in the firelight, holding me there without a word.
I couldn’t look anywhere else.
Her eyes held mine as if letting go would be a mistake. She was too close, too intense, and I wanted her to step away, put space between us, but something else kept me still. The pull was quiet, persistent, and impossible to ignore. I hated it.
"I need to keep you safe," she said, the words low enough that they felt private. "That's what this is, for me. You deserve safety."
The words landed differently than I expected. Not you need protection or it's my job. "You deserve safety." Like I was worth protecting—not just because of what I knew, but because of who I was. My throat tightened before I could stop it.
My breath caught in the space after, then came quicker, matching the beat of my pulse.
Hers slowed, each inhale and exhale drawing out the moment.
Her gaze dipped to my mouth, lingering there before rising again.
Without thinking, my chin tilted upward, a small shift that closed the distance between us in a way that felt like permission—or surrender.
I wasn't sure which, and I wasn't sure I cared.
The air felt warmer, the light from the fire catching the edge of her jaw. My fingers curled faintly against her hip. Her palm at my waist remained in place, not urging me forward, not letting me go.
The muscles under my hand shifted again, a subtle tightening, like she was holding still for my sake as much as her own. The corner of her thumb pressed lightly into my side, not pushing, not pulling, just enough to remind me it was there.
I wanted to look away, to break the pull between us, but my gaze wouldn’t leave hers. It wasn’t just her eyes. It was the way she held herself, like I’d caught her in a moment she wouldn’t offer to anyone else.
In the kitchen, a cupboard closed, and footsteps crossed tile. The noise might as well have been in another house.
Her gaze flicked down to my mouth again, slower this time, then back up.
I thought she might speak, but she didn’t.
I became aware of the weight of my hair against my neck, the quick rise and fall of my chest, the steady heat where our bodies touched.
Every point of contact seemed sharper, more defined, as if the rest of the world had faded just to make room for this.
I stayed there, caught, waiting to see if she would close the space.
Then the sound of footsteps cut across the room. She let go. The chill left in their absence felt deliberate, like she wanted me to know she’d pulled back on purpose. She didn’t step back, but the focus between us fractured.
A voice followed, edged with dry amusement. “We’re protecting her, Kara, not… whatever that is.”
That voice… so familiar. I turned toward the sound.
A tall woman disappeared into the kitchen just as I did. All I saw was a canvas bag hung from her right shoulder, pulling the muscle taut beneath her sleeve. Another bag swung from her hand, the weight of it shifting as she adjusted her grip.
My mind was playing tricks on me. I needed food and sleep.
I turned back to Kara. Her pale eyes were still on me, and I realized I'd swayed forward slightly when she'd pulled away—my body still reaching for something that was no longer there. I caught myself, straightening, but my lips were still parted, my pulse still racing like I'd been running.
Heat crept into my cheeks before I could stop it. We'd almost—I'd almost let her—
"Sorry," I whispered.
She gave a slight shake of her head, but her eyes darkened for just a second, her gaze dropping to my mouth one more time before she looked away. When she spoke, her voice was carefully even, deliberately practical. "C'mon. You need to eat."
But her hand, when it slid behind my back again, lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.
She slid the other arm under my knees, lifting me once more. The change in position was sudden enough to make me catch my breath, my hands gripping her shoulder on instinct.
The living room blurred slightly at the edges as she turned toward the table. I caught the warm glow from the kitchen and the muted clink of dishes ahead. Her stride was sure, and each step carried us closer to the chair Ellie had pulled out from the table’s side.
Ellie gave a small smile as she stepped back, clearing space. Kara lowered me toward the seat with care, one hand braced at my back until I felt the chair beneath me. My feet found the floor, my injured one resting lightly, toes barely touching.