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That one carries more weight.
Because disappearing is what men like him were built to do.
“Then what are you going to do?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
I can feel him thinking—not tactically… personally.
That’s new.
That’s everything.
Finally—
“Whatever keeps you safe.”
I turn onto my side, studying him in the soft dark.
“That’s not a job description.”
His hand finds mine under the covers, fingers threading through like something natural.
“It’s a promise.”
That lands deeper than anything else.
Not strategy.
Not survival.
Choice.
I lean in and kiss him.
Slow.
Real.
Unhurried.
No urgency. No fear of interruption.
Just presence.
The kind of kiss that doesn’t belong to a moment—
It belongs to a future.
98
Lark
Epilogue — Six Months Later
The building is glass.
On purpose.
