Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
My heart hammers as I lie there staring at the ceiling.
I hear Knight in the bathroom—water running, the quiet scrape of the toothbrush, door opening, closing.
His footsteps down the hall are soft but somehow louder than anything.
The bedroom door creaks open.
He pauses on the threshold.
Even in the dark, I can feel his hesitation.
“It’s fine,” I say into the quiet. “I don’t bite in my sleep.”
“You bite when you’re awake,” he mutters.
“Accurate.”
The mattress dips as he sits on the edge of the bed, then lowers himself down carefully. The covers rustle. He shifts, settling on his back, every movement deliberate, like he’s afraid the bed might explode if he’s not gentle enough.
He’s close.
Not touching.
But close.
In the silence, I can hear everything: his breathing, a little uneven and the rustle of fabric as he folds his arms over his chest, even the creak of the bed frame as our combined weight settles.
For a long moment, we just lie there.
The room smells like laundry detergent and pine and Knight.
My nerves buzz.
“On a scale of one to panic,” he says quietly, “where’s your anxiety right now?”
I stare at the dark. “Like… a six. Maybe seven.”
He hums. “What can I do to drop it two points?”
“Besides reprogram my brain chemistry?”
“I left my neuromancer hat at home,” he says. “You get the low-tech version.”
“Talk to me,” I say, surprising myself. “About anything. Distract me.”
He thinks for a second.
“I fixed the front door lock while you were in the shower,” he says. “It sticks less now. And I rigged a little chime with a string and a spoon, so if someone tries it from the outside, it’ll make noise.”
Warmth curls under my ribs. “Of course you did.”
“There’s a loose floorboard in the living room,” he continues. “I reinforced the window latches. The back one had a faulty catch, so I swapped it with the one from the bathroom. And I moved your shoes so you won’t stub your toe if you have to run.”
I blink into the dark.
He says it like he’s listing debugging updates. Casual. Efficient.
Every item is a small, quiet I thought about you.
“Any other patch notes?” I ask softly.
“I keep thinking about how to get you out of this,” he admits. “Even if they never pull the bounty, even if we never find Helios. I keep replaying every move we made that led to this point, wondering where I could’ve misstepped less.”
Pain pricks.
“Knight,” I whisper, turning my head toward him. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I keep saying that to myself,” he says. “My brain doesn’t believe me yet.”
“Well, your brain can get in line behind mine,” I say. “Because mine’s very sure I chose this. I blackmailed my way into your operations, remember? You didn’t recruit me. I walked in and kicked the door down.”
He huffs a small laugh. “Yeah. That was… aggressively you.”
“And I’d do it again,” I add. “Even knowing this is where we’d end up.”
He’s quiet.
“So maybe,” I say, “stop treating me like I’m some innocent bystander you accidentally dragged into the Matrix.”
“You’re not innocent,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Rude.”
“I mean you’re not helpless,” he corrects. “I know that. Intellectually. Emotionally, my system is still… catching up.”
I lie there, absorbing that.
My anxiety does drop a couple of points.
We’re companions in this, not a rescuer and a damsel.
“Hey, Knight?” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For telling me that stuff earlier. About your family. About your… patches.”
He shifts, the mattress dipping closer.
“You regretting your patch notes yet?” he asks.
I wince. “You mean the part where I accidentally told you I love you?”
He goes very still.
Yeah.
There it is.
“My filter glitched,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“Don’t take it back,” he says, and there’s something raw in his voice that stops me mid-ramble. “Please don’t… walk that back.”
I stare at the shadow of his profile.
It’s dark, but I can see the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way he’s turned a little toward me even though he’s keeping that careful inch of space.
“I’m not taking it back,” I say, heart pounding. “I just… feel weird about it being… out. In the air. Like some cartoon speech bubble I can’t pop.”
He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a relieved laugh. “Welcome to my life,” he murmurs. “You think I haven’t been choking on my own unsaid shit for years?”
“Language,” I whisper automatically.
He chuckles, the sound low and warm in the dark. “Lark,” he says after a moment, voice quieter, “can I say something that’s going to make your system panic and then maybe calm down?”
“Oh good,” I say. “More feelings. Hit me.”
He takes a breath. “When you said you loved me,” he says, each word deliberate, “I didn’t hear ‘girl with a crush on an idea.’ I heard ‘person who has seen me at my worst and still chose me anyway.’ And I… don’t know what to do with that. I’m not good at it. I’m going to fumble it.”