Page 52 of The Marriage Debt

“All clear!” he announces. Mateo lifts a hand, and Lev hurries over to give him a high-five.

“Good work,” Mateo says. “You want to help me with the patrol logs?”

Lev nods and climbs into the chair next to him. I watch them as they sit side by side. Lev kicks his legs beneath the desk and leans in when Mateo pulls up the reports. The two of them talk like they've done this for years. The pages in front of me blur, and I close the book in my lap without realizing it.

This isn't the kind of peace I ever imagined, but I feel safer in this room than anywhere else in the house. That thought scares me more than the silence outside.

Lev leans into Mateo’s side, eyes flicking between the screen and his own little checklist. He’s quiet for a while, focused, content in a way I haven’t seen in days.

Then, without looking up, he asks, “Are we gonna live here forever?”

The words stop everything.

Mateo’s hand stills on the tablet. I feel my breath catch without meaning to. It’s not a question about bedtime or dinner. It’s the kind that has weight, the kind kids only ask when they think the grown-ups already know the answer. But neither of us says anything.

Mateo shifts the focus and points at the ledgers, showing Lev the logs, and that quiets him. But it doesn't quiet my hammering pulse.

Am I going to live here forever?

* * *

That night, I go to Mateo’s room like I have every night for the past few weeks.

I don’t knock. I never have. He told me once, “If I didn’t want you here, the door would be locked.” It never is.

I’m wearing one of his shirts—soft cotton, a little big, sleeves rolled up to my elbows. My hair’s still damp from the shower, and I haven’t bothered with anything else. It’s late. The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels thick. Even the guards seem to move softer after midnight.

He’s not in bed yet, but the lights are off except for the lamp by the window. He’s standing near it, checking the lock on the case where he keeps his sidearm. Routine. He does it the same way every night, like double-checking makes the world a little less dangerous.

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the blanket back. He glances over his shoulder when he hears the sheets shift.

“Everything quiet downstairs?” he asks.

I nod. “Rosa put on one of those nature shows. Lev was asleep before they even finished narrating the opening scene.”

Mateo closes the case and shuts off the lamp. The room drops into soft shadow as he walks toward the bed. He peels off his shirt and drops it onto the chair, then sinks down beside me with a sigh that sounds more bone-deep than tired.

He leans back against the pillows, one arm behind his head. I can tell by the way he shifts that he’s not comfortable. His body’s restless even when his voice isn’t. Maybe it’s the day. Maybe it’s just him.

I slide in beside him, tugging the blanket up over both of us. He doesn’t move for a long time.

Then he turns his head toward me and kisses me—slow, nothing urgent, just a warm press of lips. I kiss him back and feel the tension ease out of his shoulders. When he pulls away, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me against his chest like that’s where I belong.

Neither of us says anything right away.

His hand settles on my hip, fingers flexing gently, like he’s grounding himself more than holding me. I nestle closer, resting my chin just above his collarbone. The warmth of him, the weight of the blanket, the soft sound of his breathing—this is the safest I’ve felt in days, and I hate that it comes with guilt.

“He asked if this was forever,” I say after a while.

Mateo doesn’t need to ask who I mean. His thumb traces a slow arc along my waist. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.” I exhale. “I froze.”

“That’s reasonable," he says, hand gripping me harder.

“Is it?” I shift slightly so I can see his face. “Because I’ve been freezing a lot lately. He’s looking at you like this is permanent. Like we’re not just passing through.”

Mateo doesn’t look surprised. “He wants to believe it’s safe here. That’s not a bad thing.”

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