Paxton grins. “Told you.”
I glance around the brewery again, taking it all in. The bar. The people. The normal laughter. I feel… light. Like I’m wearing a version of myself that isn’t constantly bracing for impact.
Ozzy leans in slightly. “You having fun?”
I nod, smiling before I can stop it. “Yeah.”
My voice sounds almost surprised.
Ozzy watches me for a beat, then his mouth softens into something warmer than a smirk. “I like seeing you like this,” he says quietly.
My chest tightens. I look down at my drink because if I meet his eyes too long, I might do something reckless—like believe I deserve a life where I sit in breweries and buy romance novels and laugh with a man who looks at me like I’m his favorite thing.
We order food—pretzels and a burger we split because it’s huge—and Paxton tells us which sauces are best, complaining about Tripp the entire time with obvious affection.
I laugh more than I have in months. And for a little while, it’s perfect. Until the thought comes. Soft at first. A shadow at the edge of the light.
What happens next?
Once I’m deemed safe. Once Dean says the threat is gone. Once Ozzy goes back to his team and his missions and his life. Where do I go? Back to my mother? Back to the apartment that never felt like home? Back to Carl’s eyes lingering too long?
Back to a world where I’m forgettable again?
The warmth inside me dims. Ozzy notices instantly—because of course he does. His hand shifts closer on the bar, not touching, but there.
“What?” he asks quietly.
I swallow. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t buy it. “Salem,” he murmurs.
I stare at my cider, watching bubbles rise. “I was just thinking about… after.”
Ozzy’s jaw tightens. “After what?”
“After I’m safe,” I whisper. “After this is over.”
His gaze sharpens. “You’re safe now.”
I shake my head. “You know what I mean.”
Silence stretches between us, the brewery noise suddenly too loud, too normal, too distant.
I force the words out. “Do I go back to my mom?” The question tastes like old pain.
Ozzy doesn’t answer right away. He looks at me like he’s choosing his words carefully. Then he says, low, “We’ll find out what’s going on with her. We’ll get answers.”
My throat tightens. “And if she didn’t even report me missing?”
Ozzy’s eyes darken. “Then we deal with that.”
I swallow hard. “And if she did?” I ask, softer. “What if she… cares?”
Ozzy’s expression softens. “Then we deal with that too.”
I let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. Because I don’t know what I want the answer to be. If she didn’t care, it confirms everything I’ve feared my whole life. If she did care… then why wasn’t she better? Why didn’t she choose me?
I take a sip of cider, trying to wash the ache away.