Page 72 of Beautiful Scars

The past tense hangs heavy in the air. I don't push, but I can't help noticing how his hands tighten around his mug, the way his jaw clenches slightly.

"She’s gone now, but maybe someday I'll tell you about her," he says with a sadness I can feel.

I nod, understanding both the offer and its limits. We sit in comfortable silence, the morning light growing stronger through my windows. It strikes me how comfortable this feels—sharing space with someone, not having to fill every moment with words. I've never had this before.

Z's phone buzzes. His expression darkens as he reads the message.

"Shit," he mutters, then looks at me. "Someone just triggered the warehouse's security."

I can see him wrestling with the decision to leave.

"Go," I tell him. "I'll be fine. The doors are locked."

"Ty's already outside, right at the bottom of the stairs. Wolf sent him over this morning," he says finally. "He'll keep watch. I'll be back in two hours, tops."

The thought of him leaving me alone makes my stomach clench, but I try not to let it show.

"When I get back, will you please consider coming to the safehouse with me?" His eyes meet mine, serious and concerned. "At least until I can get some answers about who was watching you last night. You'd have your own space, complete privacy. And all the security you need."

"Z..." I start to protest.

"I know you don't want to run," he cuts in. "But this isn't running. It's being smart."

Part of me wants to say yes, if only to ease the worry I can see in his expression. But the larger part of me remembers what happened the last time I let someone convince me they'd keep me safe.

"I can't," I say softly. "I need to be here. In my own place."

He nods like he didn't really expect any other answer.

"Alright," Z says finally, though he doesn't look happy about it. "But I'm coming back as soon as I'm done. And until then..." He fixes me with an intense look. "Keep your doors locked. All of them. And keep your phone on you at all times—even if you're just going to the bathroom."

"Yes, sir," I say, trying to lighten the mood, but his expression remains serious.

"I mean it, Sunny. This is serious."

"I know." I wrap my arms around myself. "I promise I'll be careful."

He stands reluctantly, gathering his jacket. At the door, he waits while I slide the locks into place, then I hear him testing the handle from the outside—once, twice. His footsteps pause in the hallway, like he's second-guessing leaving, before finally fading away.

I drag myself back to the couch, exhausted despite having slept more hours at a time than I'm used to. The blanket Z used is still there, and I pull it around myself as I lay down. The fabric smells like him—warm spice and leather. It's comforting. I know I should probably get up, maybe try to be productive, do some laundry or clean, but the events of last night and this morning have left me drained.

I burrow deeper into the blanket, creating a cozy cocoon, and let my eyes drift closed. Just five minutes, I tell myself. But as I start to drift off, I can't help the small smile that curves my lips.

WhenIwake,somethingfeels wrong. The apartment is too quiet. My eyes fall on my coffee table and my blood turns to ice.

Sitting there, perfectly centered, is my set of spare keys. The ones I keep hidden in my dresser drawer.

I lift my head off the couch and look around slowly, trying to be quiet. Nothing else looks disturbed or out of place.

I slide my hand down, grabbing the phone out of my pocket. With trembling fingers, I dial. Z answers on the first ring.

"Sunny. You okay?"

I struggle to keep my voice a low whisper. "Someone's been here. Inside."

His tone shifts instantly. "Are you alone in the room right now?"

"I... I think so. I don't know."

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