Page 118 of Taken Off Camera
“Always.” Turning to me, Sebastian offers his hand. “Ready?”
The nightmare isn’t over as long as the trafficking ring remains. Travis’s buyers are still out there, and my body aches with the memory of violence. But for the first time, I feel strong enough to be my own protector, and if I falter, my chosen family will be there to catch me.
I look up at Sebastian. We’re not victim and rescuer, not cam boy and patron, but true partners who will face whatever comes next together.
My fingers lace through his. “Ready.”
“Let’s go home,” Sebastian says, and the word no longer carries question or conflict.
Home isn’t a place, it’s the people who fight beside you, even after you’ve proven you can fight for yourself.
EPILOGUE
SEBASTIAN
I’ve always preferred being the one watching.
Running the cameras meant I didn’t have to be seen. Not really. From behind a screen, no one could judge the scars, or the stiffness in my movements, or the way silence comes easier than small talk. The monitors gave me control.
Distance.
Safety.
But Micah never minded the distance. He looks straight into the lens, knowing I’m there. Hewantsme there.
“Enjoying the view, Security?”
His voice crackles through the speaker, lazy and teasing, as he putters around in our suite upstairs. The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. For thefirst time in months, he doesn’t sound as if he’s in pain or exhausted. Just warmth. Challenge.
Happiness.
I turn back to the screens, checking the perimeter feed before allowing my attention to return to his screen again. It’s not the kind of relationship most people would understand, one built on observation, half conversation and half silence, but it works for us. Micah likes being seen now, at least by me, and I like the steadiness that comes from knowing exactly where he is.
After Travis, it took time for Micah to reach this point. For weeks, the feed from our suite stayed dark, the system locked out at Micah’s request. I didn’t argue. I’d have let the whole network go dark if that’s what he needed. Anything it took for him to regain his autonomy and sense of self.
Then, one night, the feed blinked to life. Just for a moment. Long enough to catch him padding barefoot through the living room, mug in hand, glancing toward the camera before disappearing out of frame.
After that, it became a pattern. Every time I worked the night shift alone, the suite feed would come back online for an hour or two. Never a word about it from him, just a quiet connection toreestablish communication in the way Micah does best, on his own terms.
He says it’s about safety, that he likes knowing I’m keeping watch.
But when he looks into the lens like he’s doing now, smiling just for me, I know it’s something else. It’s trust. The kind I stopped believing I’d ever earn.
Micah leans closer to the camera, the faint curve of his lips visible even through the grain of the feed.
“I’ve got a surprise for you tonight,” he says, dropping just enough into his old, patented purr to pull a shiver down my spine.
Clearing my throat, I activate the communicator for our suite. “Should I be worried?”
He laughs softly, that low, unguarded sound I’d missed during the worst weeks after the warehouse. “Not unless you hate being spoiled. Come up as soon as your shift ends, okay? No detours.”
“Bossy,” I murmur, but my chest warms.
Confidence has always suited him best.
“Don’t keep me waiting,” he shoots back, green eyes flicking toward the lens again.
Before I can respond, the feed cuts to black, the screen going dark in a single flicker.
