Page 71 of Mystic's Sunrise

She doesn’t know it, but she’s the only thing that’s ever hushed the war in my head. And that terrifies me more than any nightmare ever did.

I lit a smoke. Let it burn down until it kissed my fingertips, just to feel something real. Then I crushed it out under my boot, watching the smoke curl like a ghost that didn’t want to leave.

Wasn’t long until I was standing outside her door. Most nights, I didn’t give a damn where anyone was. Hell, I didn’tcheckon people. I wasn’t that guy. Never had been.

But her?

She was different. Since we found her and especially since we started sleeping in the same bed, without her there was no sleep for me.

I hesitated, hand hovering to knock. Then I just opened the door.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, blanket pulled tight around her. Her eyes met mine, soft, welcoming, and not a lick of hesitation in them.

“I was getting worried,” she said, her voice a whisper, threaded with that soft Turkish accent.

“Sorry,” I muttered, stepping in.

She didn’t ask why. Just nodded, slow and quiet.

“I figured you’d already be asleep.”

She shook her head. “No. Not without you.”

I dragged the chair from the corner and dropped into it with a grunt, taking off my boots. “You always have trouble sleeping?”

A small shake of her head. “Yes... it’s always loud. In here.” She tapped her temple. “Even when it is quiet outside.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “I know that kinda loud.”

For a while, neither of us spoke. We just sat in it—the stillness, the memories. The shit we kept locked away.

“You ever seen somethin’ like that before?” I asked, glancing toward the dark window like Troy’s body was still out there.

Zeynep didn’t answer right away. Her voice came slower this time, quieter. “Drago... he hurt people all the time. He didn’t care if I was in the room.”

I frowned, stomach twisting.

“He said I was his and he didn’t hurt me because he loved me.” Her eyes dropped to her lap. “But when he was angry at me… he made others pay. So I would feel it. Guilt... pain... just not on my body.”

I sat back a little, jaw tight. “He’s a piece of shit.”

She gave a broken breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I begged him, once. ‘Hit me instead,’ I said. But he wouldn’t. He wanted me towatch.To remember. To see what my not listening did to others.”

Jesus.

My hands curled into fists. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I was not the one bleeding,” she whispered. “But it still got inside me.”

I looked at her, really looked. “You carry it different than most. Still on your feet. Still breathin’. Still smilin’.”

“It’s not as easy as it seems.” Her lips trembled, but she held steady. “I think... wish that I would have been the one he hurt. Then I would not feel so much shame.”

I leaned forward, voice low and rough. “Ain’t your shame to carry, sweetheart. That’s his. You hear me?”

Her eyes flicked up to mine. “You act like I’m not broken—used and dirty.”

“’Cause you’re not,” I replied harshly, hating that she thought that about herself. “Hell, you’re the strongest person I’ve met in a long damn time.”

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