Page 24 of Born in Fire

“Has he threatened you?”

“Not explicitly.” I take a shuddering breath. “He just… won’t let go. It’s been over a year.”

Dorian’s jaw tightens, but his voice remains gentle. “What can I do?”

The simple question—acknowledging my self-reliance rather than taking over—brings unexpected tears to my eyes.

“You’re already doing it.”

We sit in silence for several minutes as my breathing gradually steadies. Dorian doesn’t press for details, doesn’t offer platitudes about restraining orders or moving on. He simply remains present, a solid anchor in the storm.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, embarrassment creeping in as the panic recedes. “This isn’t exactly how I planned the evening to end.”

“Don’t apologize.” His eyes hold mine. “Not for this.”

I look away, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I’ve allowed myself to be.

“You should probably go. It’s late.”

“Do you want me to go?”

The question stops me. Do I? The thought of being alone makes the panic threaten to return, but having him stay crosses every boundary I’ve established since Tyler.

“No,” I admit quietly. “But I don’t think I’m good company right now.”

“I’m not looking for entertainment, Juno.” He shifts slightly, giving me more space. “I’m going to stay until you feel safe. Just that. Nothing else.”

I study his face, searching for ulterior motives, for the mask to slip. It doesn’t.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. “Not tonight.”

“Okay.” He stands. “How about I make some tea? You look cold.”

Iamcold, I realize, shivering with leftover adrenaline.

“Kitchen’s through there. Mugs in the cabinet above the kettle.”

While he moves around my small kitchenette with surprising ease, I pull my grandmother’s quilt from the back of the couch and wrap it around my shoulders. The weight helps settle me in the present.

Dorian returns with two steaming mugs. “Chamomile. Hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect.” I accept the mug, our fingers brushing. “Thank you. For everything.”

He settles beside me, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching. “No thanks needed.”

We sip tea in companionable silence. The panic has left me drained, eyelids growing heavy despite my attempts to stay alert.

“You should rest,” Dorian says softly, taking my empty mug from me. “I’ll be right here.”

“You don’t have to stay,” I murmur, even as I feel myself leaning toward him.

“I know.” His arm gently encircles my shoulders, and I find myself resting against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear. “But I want to.”

I should protest. Should maintain the walls that have kept me safe. But as sleep pulls me under, all I can think is how long it’s been since I’ve felt this protected, this understood.

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