Page 264 of Let Me In

Then presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist—slow, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my pulse. Like a vow sealed in silence.

He doesn’t go back to the kitchen.

Doesn’t check the locks again or stoke the fire or fill the silence with anything unneeded.

He just turns to me.

“Come with me,” he says softly.

I follow.

Not out of fear. But choice.

He brings me into the bedroom, and this time… he doesn’t close the door.

The duffel sits at the end of the bed. The firelight spills in through the open door, flickering across the walls. The bag TheWatcher brought waits near the foot of the dresser, its seams drawn tight. Weighted—not just in heft, but in meaning.

Cal doesn’t speak as he reaches for his shirt.

He pulls the soft cotton one he’s wearing over his head, slow and steady, the scar at his side catching the light for just a moment.

And then he reaches for the dark one.

The one that clings closer. That speaks of movement. Of quiet work in the dark.

He buttons it all the way to the collar.

Then the pants—not denim, but tactical fabric. Stiff at the seams. Familiar in a way I’ve never seen, but somehow still know.

Then the jacket.

Black. Sleek. It hugs his shoulders, accentuating the broad strength of him. Moves with him like a second skin, like it was made for his frame—and no one else’s.

The man in front of me is not a stranger. He’s the same man who made me soup and held me through my panic—who laid me across his lap when I forgot how to breathe.

But now… there’s something different in his spine, in the way he checks the sleeves over his wrists, in the slight flex of his hands. It’s not tension. It’s readiness.

And I don’t look away.

I don’t step back. I just move to him—close enough to press my hand to the zipper of his coat and tug it up gently, all the way to the top.

I smooth the fabric flat with my palm, the material cool and structured beneath my hand—stiff at the seams, like it’s built to shield more than just skin.

Then I reach for the compass.

It’s still on the nightstand. Where I left it after holding it all afternoon.

I place it in his hand.

He tucks it into the inside pocket.

Doesn’t speak.

But his hand finds the back of my neck.

And he leans in.

Forehead to mine. His skin is warm against mine, the heat of him grounding me, the hush of his breath brushing my cheek like a tether I didn’t know I needed.

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