Page 21 of Mystic's Sunrise

She saw. I knew she did. But she didn’t speak on it. Just smoothed my hair back and kept humming like that was all the comfort I needed.

By the time she wrapped the towel around my shoulders and pressed the warm cloth to the back of my neck, my breathing had slowed again.

I was not whole. Not even close. But I did feel better.

She stood and kissed the top of my head so gently it almost undid me. Like I was her own.

“You’re safe here, sweetheart,” she said softly. “I don’t care where you came from. I care about where you are now.”

And for the first time since I came to this place...

I did not cry from pain.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HERE I WASagain, telling myself I should leave.

My gaze drifted to where she lay quietly, her breathing steady in the soft shadows. My first instinct—to get up, clear my head, put some distance between me and whateverthiswas—vanished the second I saw her curled beneath the blankets. She looked fragile, vulnerable in a way that tugged at parts of me I usually kept buried.

But I didn’t move.

Instead, I stayed planted in that chair, elbows braced on my knees, posted up like her own personal shadow. The sleeves ofmy sweatshirt swallowed her up, made her look even smaller. That did something to me, made me want to always protect her.

She stirred slightly, body jerking in her sleep, and I leaned forward without thinking. The way she reached for me… trusted me... it unsettled me so fucking much. She didn’t know the truth I carried, the shit I’d done, the ghosts I still ran from.

There was something about her. Pure. Innocent in a way that stripped me bare, saw past all the scars and the mess I was made of.

My fingers flexed, restless. It wrapped around my lungs, tight and burning, like smoke I couldn’t cough out. I scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to push the memories back. She didn’t know the worst of me. Didn’t know what kind of monster lived under the surface. If she ever found out…

I exhaled hard, like maybe it could shake off the weight of all that.

Didn’t matter right now.

What mattered was keeping her safe. That was supposed to be my job. Just a responsibility. But it had become so much more than that.

Her breathing deepened, soft and even. Shit, maybe when she healed, she’d leave. Hell, maybe she should. I wouldn’t blame her. I was no hero. Most days I was barely holding myself together. And who the fuck would want to wake up to this face every morning?

Still, the thought of her leaving made my head spin with thoughts to prevent it.

I pushed myself up abruptly, needing to escape before I did something stupid. Like touch her. Brush that soft hair back. Feel the heat of her skin just to know she was real.

My boots hit the floor heavy as I crossed to the door. I paused with my hand on the handle, jaw clenched.

One last look.

She was still there. Peaceful. Unaware of the storm she stirred up just by breathing.

I stepped out, pulling the door shut behind me, but I couldn’t leave the storm behind.

No matter how bad I wanted to.

The door clicked shut behind me, but the silence I left inside clung to my skin like sweat. I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake it off. Didn’t work. That girl had carved her way under my ribs without even trying.

The hallway smelled like old wood and history—familiar. Comforting in a way Zeynep’s room wasn’t. Not because it was safer out here. Just because it didn’t ask questions I couldn’t answer.

The sound of voices pulled me toward the common room. The usual mix, laughter, clinking bottles, music from the old speakers thumping in the corner.

As I stepped in, Gearhead looked up from the bar, flipping a pocketknife closed with a softclick. “Look who decided to come up for air.”

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