Page 81 of Let Me In

“Okay, baby,” I murmur. “Remember our rules.”

She does. Lists them out like a litany, her voice steady even if her hands are probably still shaking.

“Good girl,” I say. And mean it.

The words travel low, settle deep. Like they’ve been waiting in my chest for a moment like this. I feel the pull of it—tight and warm—something equal parts pride and possession. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me.

She doesn’t know what it does to me.

That trust. That quiet obedience not out of fear, but out of faith.

“Now breathe, little one. Let some of that air out.”

I hear her exhale.

Soft.

Real.

And something in me eases, just for a second.

“I’m okay,” she whispers.

“I know you are. I’ve got you.”

And I do.

I have eyes on the entire field. The trail. The shoreline. The gravel road that cuts behind the far fence.

There’s nothing yet.

Just sea wind and birdsong and the soft sound of her voice in my ear.

But I don’t relax.

Not fully.

Not with what I’ve seen.

Not with that car still fresh in my memory. No plates. Tinted glass. Rolling too slow through a place it didn’t belong.

I watch her.

Let her walk.

Let her feel free.

And still—I scan the edges of the world like a man waiting for something to crawl out of the dark.

Because if it does?

This time I’ll be ready.

And this time?

She won’t be alone.

She’s walking now. Not far—just a slow meander across the rise of the field, the sea curling behind her like a living thing. Luca bounds ahead, nose to the ground. Cleo chases something invisible through the grass.

---