Page 64 of Mystic's Sunrise

Right now, this—in my room, his hand warm around mine—peace.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

ZEYNEP SHIFTED AGAINSTme, the warmth of her bodypressing lightly into my side. I felt her breathing—slow, steady—each inhale a quiet reminder that she was here. That somehow, by some cruel twist of fate, she was mine.

For now.

I dragged a hand down my face, staring up at the cracked ceiling, the old fan clicking as it turned lazy circles above us. Sleep gripped at the edges of my mind but never made it past the heaviness sitting on my chest.

How the hell did I end up here? With her curled against me and wanting nothing more than to pull her underneath me.

My fists clenched at the memory of her smile earlier — soft, real — and the way she looked at me, it was fucking killing me not to have her.

“You okay?”

Her voice broke through the silence, soft and rough from sleep. Drowsy, yeah—but sharp underneath. Zeynep didn’t miss things. Especially not when it came to me.

“Yeah,” I muttered, my voice low. “Just thinkin’.”

She didn’t push. Just shifted closer, her body fitting against mine like she was made for it, her small hand finding its way over my ribs. That simple touch sent a bolt of heat and pain straight through my body. Like a wound that never healed right.

This had become our routine. Every night, she let me in, trusted me to stay, trusted me to guard her sleep, and every night, I let myself fall deeper. Knowing full well I was building this on a goddamn fault line.

She sighed against my skin, the breath of it making my stomach knot. “Thinking about what?”

I should’ve lied. Should’ve told her something easy, something that wouldn’t carve me up inside. Instead, my fingers found her arm, tracing slow over the delicate line of muscle and bone, feeling the softness of her against my calloused hand.

“About how much I don’t deserve this,” I said, barely louder than a whisper.

Her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab onto me but wasn’t sure if she was allowed. Wasn’t sure if I’d pull away.

“Don’t say that.” It came out fierce. Broken.

A humorless chuckle ripped from my chest. “It’s the truth, Zeynep.”

She lifted her head, just enough for me to catch the glint of her dark eyes in the slivered moonlight leaking through the window. Shelookedat me—really looked—and it damn near broke me in half.

“You take care of me,” she said, like she was reminding me of something I’d already forgotten. “You keep me safe. You...you make me happy.”

My throat closed up. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

If only you knew.

There was a pause, her hand still over my ribs like she could feel every word I wasn’t saying.

“Would you tell me if something was wrong?” she asked, so quiet I barely heard her. Her voice cracked just slightly at the end, like she already felt the tremor in the ground, the shift in the air. Like she knew some part of me was already slipping through her fingers. I almost said it. I almost told her everything. Almost ripped it out of me, bleeding and raw.

Instead, I tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, my knuckles brushing her jaw. She leaned into the touch, trusting, soft, wrecking me without even trying.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” I rasped.

She didn’t argue. Just watched me a little longer—eyes heavy but stubborn—before laying her head back against my chest, her ear right over my heart. Listening to the broken rhythm I couldn’t hide.

Her fingers brushed lightly over my ribs again, and then... so soft I almost didn’t catch it, she whispered against my skin. “Sana güveniyorum.”

I froze. Once again I didn’t understand what she said, but the way she said it—slow, sure, achingly sad—it continued to stir up shit inside me.

Trust. Whatever she said... it was trust. I closed my eyes, the burn behind them sharp and savage. She trusted me and I was lying to her.

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