Page 87 of Let Me In

“I just—” she starts, voice shaking.

But I don’t let her finish.

I wrap her up.

Arms around her in one long, solid pull—like I have to hold her in place or the wind might take her.

She gasps softly, but she doesn’t pull away. The sound is sharp and quiet, like her body wasn’t ready for the contact—butthen she melts into me, warm and trembling. Her weight folds into me like she was made to.

My hand comes up, cradling the back of her head, tucking her into my chest. The other arm holds around her waist, firm and unmoving.

And for a moment?

I just breathe.

Through her hair.

Through the silence.

Through the ache in my chest that says I almost lost something I never even got to keep.

Her arms slide around me slowly.

Tighten.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my shirt. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought it was the only chance, and I—I had the tracker, I was careful—”

My voice comes out rough.

“You didn’t mean to,” I echo. “But you did.”

She nods against me. Doesn’t try to pull away.

So I say it, plain and soft, mouth near her temple.

“You scared me, little one,” I say, the words rawer than I expect. I don’t say things like this—not often, not easily—but it ripped through me when I saw that car. When I realized what she’d done. This kind of fear doesn’t come out of nowhere. It’s carved from care. "More than I’ve been scared in a long time.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” I press my lips into her hair. “I know, baby. You did well. I saw what you did. I’m proud of you.”

She draws in a small, shaky breath, as if her body’s still catching up to what her heart already knows.

“But don’t ever do it alone again.”

“I won’t,” she says, so quiet it’s barely there.

I don’t let go.

Not yet.

Because keeping her in my arms is the only thing steadying the quake under my skin.

20

EMMY

My heart is beating too fast.

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