Page 117 of Grim

Grim stayed near the doorway, giving her space.

She turned on him suddenly, eyes blazing with something raw and wounded.

“Stop helping me,” she snapped.

Grim didn’t flinch.

She wasn’t angry at him. She was angry at herself.

“I’m trying,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m trying so hard and I can’t… I can’t do anything without you watching me like I’m going to break.”

Grim swallowed hard. “I’m not watching you to see if you break. I’m watching to make sure you don’t fall alone.”

Sophia’s breath hitched.

She looked away. Looked down. Looked like she was unraveling.

“I need space,” she whispered.

Grim nodded. “Okay.”

He stepped back. Then back again. Then again.

He stopped only when he reached the hallway.

“I’ll be right here,” he said quietly. “But I’ll give you whatever space you need.”

Sophia didn’t answer.

Grim stayed there for a long moment, staring at the floor, trying to breathe past the helplessness clawing at his chest.

A familiar ache crept in — the same one he used to get standing on porches with a trash bag of clothes, waiting for someone to decide if they wanted him or not. Back then, space meant distance. Distance meant you were already halfway out the door.

He hated how fast that old instinct came back. How easy it was to feel thirteen again, bracing for rejection he hadn’t earned. Sophia wasn’t sending him away. She just needed room to breathe. But his body didn’t know the difference. Not completely.

His fingers twitched toward his phone before he could stop them. He didn’t type much, just a single message to Stone.

She’s not okay.

He didn’t expect anyone to come. He just couldn’t hold it alone anymore.

She just sank onto the couch, pulling her knees to her chest, her breath trembling.

Grim stayed in the hallway, close enough to hear her breathing, far enough not to crowd her.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

The knock came half an hour later.

Grim stiffened. Sophia did too, barely, but he saw it.

He opened the door.

Stone. Havoc. Rook. Fish. Ledger.

All standing on the porch, leather cuts catching the afternoon light, faces grim but eyes soft.

Stone spoke first. “We’re here for her.” Then, quieter, “And for you.”