Page 79 of The Mercenary's Hidden Heir

The way his hand hovers near his knife, even in the quiet.

Always ready.

Always braced.

For a fight, for a fall, for another loss.

And I realize something cold and sharp.

He isn’t just guarding the door.

He’s guarding us.

Guardingme.

Not out of duty.

Not out of guilt.

But because hewantsto.

My throat burns.

I cross the room slow, my boots scuffing soft against the cracked tile.

He hears me coming, of course.

Doesn’t turn.

Doesn’t flinch.

Just tilts his head slightly, like he’s been waiting for me.

I stop beside him, close enough that my shoulder brushes his.

Outside, the city seethes like a wounded beast.

Lights flicker.

Distant shouts tear through the dark.

But inside it’s just us.

Him and me.

And all the ghosts we gotta leave behind if we’re gonna survive tomorrow.

"You ever think," I say, voice low, "about what life would've been like... if none of this happened?"

He huffs a breath, not quite a laugh.

"Sometimes," he says. "Used to think about it a lot."

I lean against the wall, arms crossed.

"What'd you see?"

He’s quiet for a long beat.

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