Page 64 of Summertime Hexy

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The Grove says nothing.

And that silence? It’s worse than screaming.

I look back at Derek.

His lips are parted slightly, lashes dark against his pale cheeks. His brow is furrowed like he’s still fighting in his dreams.

“You should be yelling at me right now,” I murmur. “Calling me reckless. Telling me I’m a menace to magical infrastructure.”

My hand finds his again.

Still cold.

I press my forehead to his knuckles, breathing through the ache that builds in my chest, hot and sharp and terrifying.

“I’m not ready,” I say, voice small.

“I’m not ready to lose you.”

The wind finally picks up—soft, stirring the trees with a sound like breath through feathers. A few leaves flutter down and settle in the dirt near his shoulder.

Somewhere in the distance, a mourning dove calls. Low. Lonesome.

I tuck myself closer to him, curling at his side like a barrier between him and the night.

“I know you’d do it again,” I whisper.

“Because you’reyou.And that’s the problem.”

My eyes sting.

I blink up at the moon, full and too bright, casting Derek in silver like he’s already halfway to some other plane I’m not invited to.

“No more saving me,” I murmur, voice shaking. “Not if it means I lose you to do it.”

His hand twitches faintly in mine.

I freeze.

Wait.

But nothing else happens.

I pull his arm over me like a blanket and settle my cheek against his chest, listening hard for the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat.

Still there.

And I stay like that.

All night.

Through the cold.

Through the long, aching breath between terror and hope—whispering his name like a lifeline.

Just in case the universe is still listening.

CHAPTER 22

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