Page 25 of Grim

Grim stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed bedroom door like it held answers he didn’t know how to ask for.

The house felt different now that she wasn’t in the room. Quieter. Softer. Too damn warm for a man who’d spent most of his life sleeping with one eye open. He could still hear the faint rustle of her moving around on the other side of that door, a drawer sliding shut, the soft thud of her setting something down, and every sound tugged at something in him he didn’t want to name.

His stomach growled. Loud.

He scowled at himself. “Real smooth,” he muttered.

He locked the front door out of habit, then turned toward the living room. The couch was already made up, blankets folded, pillows stacked neatly at one end. She’d done it fast, like she didn’t want him to see how much she cared.

Or maybe she didn’t want to think too hard about why she cared at all.

He didn’t blame her. He didn’t understand it either.

He told himself he was here for Reyes, for the Reapers who’d hit La Luna, for the fact she lived alone and someone needed to watch the door. None of it explained the way his chest had tightened when she’d told him to come inside.

He walked into the kitchen, intending to get water, nothing more. But the smell hit him first, warm and rich and savory, drifting from the crockpot like it had been waiting for him.

He lifted the lid and froze.

It looked good. Too good. Home-cooked, seasoned, made with hands that knew what they were doing. He hadn’t smelled anything like that in years. Maybe ever.

He grabbed a bowl. Filled it. Took a bite.

Then another.

Then another.

By the time he realized what he was doing, the bowl was empty. He stared at it like it had betrayed him.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked for him. Maybe never. Food, for him, had always been fuel, whatever he could grab, whatever kept him moving. This tasted like something else entirely. Like care. Like home. A thing he’d never had and didn’t know how to want.

He washed the bowl. Dried it. Put it back exactly where he found it. No trace left behind.

Old habits.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he wiped the counter clean.

Grim answered with a low, steady, “Prez.”

“You in position?” Stone asked, calm, clipped, the way he sounded when things were handled but not over.

“Yeah.”

“You got eyes on her place?”

“Inside.”

A pause, not surprise, not judgment. Just Stone recalibrating. “She let you in.”

Grim didn’t respond.

Stone exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound Grim had heard in sandstorms, firefights, and long nights on watch. “She safe?”

“She’s down. Wiped.”

“And you?”

“Up.”