She stays in my room.
My decision. No discussion.
I watch Nik reposition guards outside the door on the security feed, doubling the rotation and staggering their routes. I add cameras—corners, blind spots, places that never needed eyes before today. I reroute alerts to my phone, my watch, and the tablet on the desk. If something breathes too close to this wing, I will know.
It still isn’t enough.
I pace.
Bare feet against hardwood. One wall to the other. Back again. My hands curl and uncurl like I’m reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Every crack in the house sounds like a threat.
Raelyn curls on the bed behind me, knees drawn up, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She watches me move like she’s tracking a storm.
“Konstantin,” she says softly.
I don’t stop walking.
“I’m okay,” she adds. “I’m safe. I’m right here.”
I glance back before I can stop myself. She hasn’t moved. She isn’t shaking anymore. Her eyes are tired, but steady. Trusting.
That’s the part that tightens something ugly in my chest.
“I know,” I say, even though I don’t believe it. Safety is temporary. Safety is a lie people tell themselves before blood hits the floor.
I turn back to the monitors. Eastern perimeter. Southern fence. Roof cams. Clear. Clear. Clear.
Still, my pulse won’t slow.
She shifts on the bed. “You’re going to wear a path into the floor.”
I huff a breath that might almost be a laugh. “If the floor collapses, I’ll rebuild it stronger.”
“That’s not the point.”
I stop pacing.
She’s sitting up now, blanket slipping, dark hair falling around her shoulders. She looks smaller here—in my room, in my space—and the thought makes something feral snarl inside me.
“You don’t have to guard me every second,” she says gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I step closer. Close enough that she has to tilt her head to look up at me.
“That’s exactly the problem,” I say.
Her brows knit. “What is?”
“I don’t trust the seconds I’m not watching you.”
Silence.
Then she reaches out, slow, deliberate, and takes my hand. Her fingers are warm. Steady. Real.
“I’m safe,” she repeats. “With you.”
It should calm me.
It doesn’t.