I choke on a laugh. "No!"
His grin turns wicked. "Then yes. I want peanut butter."
I flick a berry at him. It bounces off his chest and hits the floor.
He laughs and bends to pick it up. When he straightens, he's watching me again. Like he sees something he wants to keep.
I pretend not to notice.
We eat side by side at the counter in easy quiet. It's surreal how normal it feels to share breakfast with the man who carried me out of hell less than twelve hours ago. Surreal, and… good.
When I finish, I wash my bowl, and dry my hands. Then I turn to him. The question I've been carrying since we left HQ finally spills out. "What are we going to do?" My voice is careful. "Like… today. Here. What's the plan?"
Ozzy leans his forearms on the counter, gaze steady on mine. "Plan is you recover. You eat. You sleep. You breathe."
"That's not a plan," I say, because stillness feels like surrender.
His eyes narrow just a fraction. "It is."
I huff. "What if I go insane?"
He tilts his head. "You bored already?"
"No," I say too fast. "I'm just…" Restless. Wired. Terrified the second I stop moving, the memories will catch me.
Ozzy watches me like he hears every word I don't say. Then he offers, "We can do anything we want. Within reason."
I blink. "Anything?"
"Anything." He nods. "We're lowkey, not locked down. Just don't make waves."
I glance toward the window, toward the woods and the distant shimmer of water. "I saw a creek on the drive up," I say, surprised by how badly I want it. "Is it close?"
His gaze follows mine. "Yeah. Ten-minute walk."
"Could we…" I hesitate, hating how small I sound. "Could we go?"
Ozzy straightens instantly. "Yeah. We can go."
My chest loosens. "Swimming?" I ask.
"It's cold," he warns.
"I'm tougher than cold," I say, chin up.
His mouth curves. "I'm not arguing toughness with you. I watched you weaponize stationery."
"Good." I smirk. "Then let's go."
He pushes off the counter. "Get dressed. Shoes. Jacket. And—" His eyes meet mine, serious now. "If you feel weird out there, we come back. No pressure."
I swallow hard, and nod once. "Okay," I whisper.
He holds my gaze, and then heads for the door. I watch him go, my brain still short-circuiting between safe and wanting and I can't believe this is my life now. Then I grab my jacket. Because for the first time in weeks, I'm not just surviving. I'm choosing. And if Ozzy thinks he can keep me tucked away in a safehouse without me at least trying to take back my body, my joy, maybe even my future— he's about to learn something important.
I don't fold.
I don't stay broken.