I turned my head, and even in the low light I could make out her profile—staring at the ceiling like she’d been staring at it for hours. The fear lived in her stillness.
I didn’t answer right away because I didn’t really have a good one.
I’d been in bad situations before. Combat zones. Places where survival came down to a coin toss and stubbornness. But this—the whole world going dark, the dead walking, the rules rewritten overnight—this lived in a category all its own.
Instead of answering, I rolled onto my side, facing her.
I slid one arm around her waist and pulled her gently against my chest, and she softened into me, her head settling against my shoulder, her breath warm through the fabric of my shirt. She fit there in a way that still surprised me.
“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly.
Honesty. The only thing I had worth giving.
My hand moved slowly up and down her back.
“But I know this.”
She tilted her head slightly. “What?”
I tightened my arm around her.
“We’re still here.”
“And as long as we’re still here,” I said, “we’ll figure out the next step. That’s it. That’s all we have to do. I promise you, Sloane, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe.”
She remained quiet for a moment, as if she were considering whether to believe me or not.
“You always sound so sure,” she whispered.
I let out a small laugh against the top of her head. “That’s because someone has to.”
The smallest smile pressed against my chest, and for a long time, we simply lay there.
Her breathing slowed, the grip on my shirt loosened as sleep started pulling her under. Before she drifted off, her voice came one last time—soft, barely a murmur.
“I’m glad you’re here, Callan.”
I rested my chin against the top of her head and closed my eyes.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me too.”
* * *
The clock on the wall ticked past two-thirty, but time had stopped mattering here long ago.
Sloane’s soft, ragged crying pulled me out of deep sleep. She shook beside me—small tremors running through her whole body even as she tried to muffle them against the pillow.
I shifted onto my side and reached for her; she stiffened for half a second—then turned into me so fast it caught me off guard. Her face, wet and flushed, pressed against my chest. Her eyes found mine in the dark; they were filled with fear and hopelessness.
“Callan,” she whispered, voice raw and wrecked. “Fuck me.”
I went still.
“Fuck me,” she choked out again. “Please. Hard. Make it stop. Make everything stop. Just—use me until I can’t think anymore.”
The desperation in her voice broke something inside me.Not desire, but something deeper. Something protective and dangerous and hungry all at once, rising fast enough to drown every rational thought I had.
I didn’t answer with words but surged over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one bruising grip, my weight pressing her into the thin couch cushions. She gasped—sharp, needy—and arched up into me like she’d been starving for the pressure. I kissed her hard, tongue driving deep, swallowing every broken sound that escaped her lips.