Page 69 of Unclench Me Softly

“It’s intense,” I say softly.

“So’s stillness,” he replies. His voice is deeper when it’s quiet. Slower. Like each word gets permission before it leaves his mouth.

I look up.

He’s watching me, but not in the way Jax does, not like he’s trying to unmake me. Seb watches like he’s waiting to see if I’ll give myself away.

“Why this?” I ask, turning the stone over again. “Why this one?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t plan to find anything. Then I stepped on it. Hard.”

I blink. “Oh.”

“But I didn’t throw it,” he adds, eyes still on mine. “I picked it up.” He pauses. Fingers twitch slightly at his side. “Stillness isn’t always gentle. Sometimes it bruises.”

I might forget how to stand.

We just look at each other for a moment, neither of us smiling. Neither of us moving.

And then he says, low, “It felt honest.”

My throat tightens. I nod, because I can’t speak.

He doesn’t linger. Just steps back, nods once more, and leaves the dome like the conversation wasn’t the most disarmingly raw thing I’ve experienced since the forest decided to emotionally curate my dating life.

I sit back down slowly, place the stone beside the pinecone, and stare at both like they’re trying to tell me something I’m still too afraid to hear.

I hear him before I see him. The steady crunch of boots on forest floor. A heavier gait. Loose. Unapologetic.

Jax doesn’t walk, he arrives.

He ducks into the dome, holding something behind his back, mouth already curled in that barely-there smirk that says he knows exactly how wrecked I am and isn’t above enjoying it.

He looks like he’s been rolling around in wild intention. His hair’s a little messier than it was this morning. His shirt’s damp with heat and a little dirt-smudged. There’s a scratch on his forearm that looks fresh.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, watching me, one brow slightly raised.

I raise one back, but my face is warm. My robe is heavy. And I’m acutely aware that every muscle in my body still hums with the memory of his name.

“You look cozy,” he says, voice low.

“It’s a weighted robe.”

His gaze flicks to the pile beside me. Asher’s pinecone. Seb’s stone. He nods toward them. “Getting offerings now, huh?”

I flush. “Stillness tokens. It’s part of the…”

“Oh, I know,” he cuts in. “You’re the High Priestess of Moss and Emotional Detonation. I read the vibes.” He steps closer, still holding something behind his back.

I cross my legs tighter. “You find your token?”

He grins, pulls his hand around, and in it… is a stick.

A gnarled, half-burnt stick, with a forked end and a knot near the top that honestly looks vaguely obscene if you squint.

He holds it out with both hands like it’s sacred.

I blink. “Really?”

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