Page 198 of Buried in Blood
I nod slowly. “I’m not going anywhere, Harmony.”
We sit like that for a long while, fingers intertwined, silence stretching between us. But it’s not empty. It’s warm. Heavy with unspoken things.
She looks down at our hands. “You think I’m perfect, don’t you?”
“No,” I say softly. “I know you’re not.”
She looks up, startled.
“And that’s what makes you perfect.”
Her mouth parts slightly. “Explain.”
“You’ve been through Hell. You’ve made mistakes. You’ve been used, broken, thrown away—and still, you fight. You save people. You love people. You make them believe there’s something worth fighting for. That’s not perfection, Harmony. That’s fucking goddamn strength.”
Tears pool in her eyes, and I wipe them away with my thumb.
“You’re not a princess,” I whisper. “You’re a fucking storm.”
She leans forward, head resting on my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I can without hurting her.
And in that moment, I swear I’d kill for her all over again.
Burn cities.
Trade my soul.
Because she’s worth it.
Every bruise.
Every broken bone.
Every sleepless night.
I don’t tell her any of that. Not tonight.
But I will.
Soon.
For now, I hold her until she falls asleep in my arms again.
And I let myself believe—for the first time in years—that maybe I’m allowed to have something good. Something real.
Her.
* * *
She stirs in my arms.
A slow breath against my throat. Then another. Her lips brush my skin as she shifts slightly, murmuring something unintelligible. Her fingers curl into my shirt, clinging to me like I’m the last solid thing in a crumbling world.
“Harmony,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You okay?”
She nods against my chest, her voice quiet. “Mm hmm.”
But she doesn’t pull away.
