Page 138 of Hard Knot

"When veterans return from war, they're not as perfect as when they left," I say softly. "They're changed. Whether physically, emotionally, or mentally. Not all of those wounds and scars are on the surface, visible for the world to acknowledge or dare mourn, but does it make their sacrifices any less admirable?"

He shakes his head slightly, careful not to dislodge my touch.

A smile curves my lips — proud, approving.

"In time...when you're ready, I don't want you hiding from the world." My thumb brushes over the scar again, feather-light. "I don't want you acting like this is an attribute that defines you, because you, Holmesovich, are a man with intelligence, and talent, and can do anything you wish to achieve in this world."

Conviction fills my voice as I continue.

"And that bitch in the grave will no longer hold you down. Those shackles..." My fingers trail down to cup his jaw. "They break today."

The words hang between us, heavy with promise and possibility. In this moment, sheltered by books and filtered sunlight, there’s finally a shift.

The air feels charged with potential, with the kind of electricity that precedes transformation. Looking into his eye, seeing the depth of emotion there, I realize we've crossed some invisible line.

There's no going back from this moment — this shared vulnerability, this mutual understanding. Whether we're ready for it or not, something has changed between us.

A seed of blossomed change that is ready to be nurtured, watered, and given the right level of TLC needed to grow.

Deep within, I think that’s exactly what we both need.

Time to heal…grow…and live again.

Unspoken Truths Of A Leader

~HOLMES~

The sound of shuffling footsteps reaches my ears, but my mind processes them sluggishly, caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness. The discomfort in my neck nags at me, reminding me I've dozed off in an awkward position, but the sweet scent surrounding me makes it hard to care.

Elizabeth's scent.

It wraps around me like a cocoon, making the idea of full consciousness seem less appealing than staying in this bubble of peace.

"Damn, he'sasleepasleep," Carter's whisper filters through my semi-conscious state.

"Shh!" Felix's voice follows, barely audible. "So be quiet for once in your fucking life and not wake him up."

A third voice joins them, taking my brain longer to process than it should.

"Why do you guys act as if the man is a vampire and never sleeps?"

Morrison.

"Holmes doesn't really sleep well," Felix explains quietly. "And even when he does fall asleep, he's a super light sleeper. Like, concerningly light."

"Is there a reason for that?"

The silence that follows James' question feels heavy, loaded with unspoken history. I can practically feel them exchanging glances, deciding how much to reveal.

"We're only mentioning it because we're going to be a pack for this damned semester," Carter finally says, his voice carrying an edge of reluctance, "and since you did save our asses in the last twenty-four hours..."

He pauses, letting the weight of his next words settle.

"The culprit of the scar on Holmes' face had drugged him in his sleep. They injected him when he was in a vulnerable state, and when he woke up, he was tied and in their captivity."

The silence that follows is deafening.

Even without seeing their expressions, I can feel the tension thickening the air.

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