Page 32 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

In the kitchen, I move on autopilot, grabbing eggs, bread, and coffee. Cooking is an action I can control, something that doesn’t ask me to think about the way Willow feels in my arms or how fucking right it is to wake up beside her.

The smell of eggs and toast fills the air as I work. The waves outside crash lazily against the shore, a slow, rhythmic pulse that matches the steady beat of my heart. Everything feels still. Peaceful.

The sun barely peeks over the horizon, casting the room in a soft, golden light, and I let the quiet settle around me. It’s almost too perfect, this moment. Too easy to pretend it’s all real, thatWillow and I could just be… normal. That I could be someone she could count on.

But I know better.

When the food is done, I plate it and pour two cups of coffee, balancing everything on a tray before heading back to the bedroom.

“Willow, I?—”

The words die in my throat.

The bed is empty.

The sheets are rumpled, her scent still lingering in the air, but she’s gone.

A sharp jolt of panic slams into my chest.

I set the tray down harder than necessary and move fast, checking the bathroom first. Empty. The closet. Empty. My stomach knots as I rush through the house, calling her name.

“Willow!”

Nothing.

Fuck.

My pulse pounds as I grab my phone, my mind already spiraling through worst-case scenarios. What if someone took her? What if she ran? What if?—

Then I see it.

Through the window, past the open sliding door, a small figure sits curled up on the porch, staring out at the lake.

Relief crashes into me so hard it nearly makes me weak.

I exhale sharply and shove my phone back in my pocket before stepping outside. The early morning air is crisp, the cool lake breeze ruffling Willow’s hair as she hugs her knees to her chest.

She doesn’t turn when I approach, but I know she hears me.

I lower myself onto the wooden steps beside her, setting the steaming cup of coffee next to her knee. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She finally glances at me, and for the first time in days, the weight in her eyes seems… lighter. “I couldn’t sleep,” she murmurs.

I study her profile, the way the wind tugs at the loose strands of her hair. She looks small like this, fragile in a way she never lets herself be.

I exhale, the tension in my chest easing now that I know she’s safe. “You could’ve told me you were up,” I say, watching the waves crash against the shore.

Willow shrugs, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

I shake my head. “You’re never a bother, Willow.”

She doesn’t respond right away, just stares out at the horizon like she’s searching for something she’ll never find.

Her breath shudders, and I can see the way her mind races, the weight of what she’s done pressing in from all sides. “I killed him, Damien,” she whispers, like she’s confessing some terrible sin. “I killed Ricardo.”

“I know.” My voice is steady, calm. “And you had to.”

She shakes her head violently, pulling away from my touch. “You don’t understand. I?—”

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