Page 162 of Sins of the Hidden

"Chet?" He stopped without turning fully. "Thank you. For tonight. And for..." A dry swallow past a lump in my throat. "Saving him."

He gave me a strange look. "Lock the door behind me."

The apartment fell into silence after the door closed behind him. I locked it, leaning against the wood for a moment, trying to process everything that had happened. My conversation with Mom felt like days ago instead of hours, her words about forgiveness echoing strangely with Chet's advice.

I moved through the apartment, turning off lights, gathering stray wrappers from Chet's cupcake binge. Simple, normal tasks that felt surreal after the night's revelations. The clock on the wall showed it was nearly two AM. Exhaustion dragged at my limbs, but my mind wouldn't quiet.

After a final check of the locks, I headed toward the bedroom to check on V. The hallway stretched dark before me, the only light coming from the city glow through the living room windows. I was halfway down the hall when a shadow shifted at the edge of my vision.

I spun around, heart leaping into my throat.

V stood in the bedroom doorway—not leaning for support but braced like a predator ready to spring despite his injuries. His massive frame blocked the entire space, the bandages stark white against his skin, slightly askew from his movements but still holding firm. The black mask remained fixed over the lower half of his face, but his eyes burned with an intensity that made my heart stutter. The sedatives Hex had given him should have rendered him unconscious, yet here he stood, watching me with a focus that felt like physical contact.

"V," I breathed, frozen in place. "You're supposed to be?—"

V's head tilted slightly, that familiar gesture that somehow conveyed more than words. "Sleeping pills don't work." His voice was rough, dragging over each syllable. "Not anymore."

My stomach twisted at the implication. "What do you mean 'not anymore'? Have you taken sleeping pills before?"

He just stared, neither confirming nor denying, but the answer was written in his silence. I wondered how many nights he'd spent in darkness, unable to escape into sleep when the rest of the world did. Another piece of him I'd never considered—insomnia without the mercy of exhaustion to end it.

I took a step forward, then hesitated. Even injured, there was something deeply dangerous about approaching him like this. His fingers flexed at his sides, muscles tensing beneath the clean bandages. He wouldn't feel if his stitches tore.

He didn't move, eyes tracking my approach. Only when I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body did he shift, allowing me past but immediately following, almost herding me toward the bed.

He sank onto the mattress with a controlled movement that betrayed no discomfort, his CIPA making him indifferent to injuries that would have others writhing in agony. I pulled the covers over him, and his hand shot out, fingers encircling my wrist with surprising strength.

"Stay."

I pulled my wrist free, taking a step back. "I need a minute."

I retreated to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. My reflection caught my eye from the mirror—a stranger wearing my face, haunted by everything that had happened tonight. Chet's words echoed, cutting through the static in my mind. About forgiveness being for me, not for V. About monsters who show their teeth being less dangerous than those who hide them.

Disgust churned in my stomach as I stared at my reflection. The thought that should have comforted me—seeing himvulnerable, knowing he was mortal after all—only twisted the knot in my chest tighter.

The truth burned—that something in me was broken beyond repair. Something that recognized V's darkness and hungered for it. Not despite what he was but because of it. Because in his ruin, I found a terrible reflection of my own damage. Because sometimes the devil you knew felt safer than the demons you'd been running from all along.

I stripped off my shirt with shaking hands, letting it fall to the floor in a heap that looked too much like a body. Under the harsh bathroom light, I examined my skin—across my collarbone, along my arms, at my wrist where his fingers had circled.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, the silence of the apartment pressed against my skin like a physical weight. Every shadow seemed to reach for me with grasping fingers, every creak of the floorboards under my feet an accusation.

I moved toward the bedroom, steps faltering as I approached the door. Through the gap, I could see V's massive frame spread across the bed. His chest rose and fell in a way that seemed too deliberate for sleep.

The sight of him there—in my bed, in my life, in my soul—should have revolted me. I should have found the strength to cut away this poison that was slowly consuming me whole.

Instead, I crossed the threshold, drawn by something darker than fear and more powerful than disgust. I slid beneath the covers, careful not to disturb his bandages, though I suspected he wasn't really sleeping at all.

His arm moved, wrapping around my waist and drawing me against his side. His body radiated heat, a stark contrast to the coldness I'd always sensed beneath his skin. The weight of his arm should have felt like a prison sentence, but instead it anchored me to the present moment—keeping me from drowning in the darkness swirling inside my mind.

His fingers flexed against my hip, digging in slightly. And in that moment, I realized something that should have destroyed me—I was exactly where I belonged. Not because he deserved forgiveness. Not because I'd found peace. Because I wasn't looking for peace. I was looking for someone who'd never ask me to be whole.

The thought should have shattered what remained of my humanity. Instead, it felt like finally admitting a truth I'd been drowning in all along.

The bedroom was dark except for the faint city glow filtering through the curtains. V's arm remained heavy across my waist, his body radiating heat beside me. I lay awake, unable to quiet my mind despite the exhaustion pulling at my limbs. Through his torn shirt, bandages wrapped his torso—a tactile reminder of how close I'd come to losing him tonight.

Something had broken open inside me when I saw him injured—a truth I couldn't hide from anymore. For better or worse, I belonged here. Not because he deserved forgiveness, but because I wasn't looking for peace. I was looking for someone who'd never ask me to be whole.

I shifted slightly, my head coming to rest against his chest. His heartbeat drummed beneath my ear—a steady, unhurried rhythm despite everything that had happened tonight. My fingers traced the outline beneath layers of cloth and bandages, careful not to disturb his injuries, seeking the mark permanently etched into his skin.

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