Page 44 of Grim

Grim didn’t deny it.

Grim tore his gaze from the map, jaw tight. Ledger locked the tablet and opened the war-room door. Noise spilled in immediately, laughter, clinking bottles, the low thrum of music vibrating through the floorboards.

The shift was jarring. From threat to warmth. From danger to her.

They stepped out together.

Sophia was seated at the bar with Lacey, fingers tangled in leather strips, head tipped back as she laughed. The sound hit Grim like a punch, soft, bright, alive. Too alive for the shit Ledger had just shown him.

Ledger followed Grim’s line of sight. His brows lifted. “Ah,” he murmured. “That’s what’s got you twisted.”

Grim shot him a look. “Don’t.”

Ledger didn’t listen. He never did. “You’re screwed.”

Havoc, passing by with a beer, snorted. “He’s been screwed. He’s just pretending he’s not.”

Grim growled low in his chest.

Ledger smirked, tapping the tablet against his arm. “Told you.”

Grim didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with Sophia’s laugh softening the whole damn room. Not with the Reapers closing in. Not with the truth settling heavy in his chest.

He couldn’t save everyone. He’d learned that the hard way. But he could save her. He would. The world took what it wanted. He’d be damned if it took her. This wasn’t about being a hero. It was about not failing again.

Grim cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Sophia’s laugh, the kind that softened the whole damn room. He needed air. Space. Something that didn’t smell like motor oil and leather and the ghost of her breath from the car.

He slung the duffel over his shoulder. “You ready?”

Sophia looked up from the leather braid Lacey had looped around her fingers. “Yeah. My shift starts at six. I guess we should head out soon, I can go in a little early.”

Grim nodded, but something tugged at him, a memory of Abuela’s kitchen, the smell of cinnamon, the insulated bag she’d pressed into Sophia’s hands like she already knew he’d be there to share it.

He jerked his chin toward the door. “Come on.”

Sophia blinked. “Where are we going?”

“Park down the road.” He didn’t look at her when he said it. “Your abuela packed food. We’re not letting it go to waste.”

Sophia’s breath caught, soft, surprised. “You… want to eat together?”

He shrugged, trying for casual. “She made it for both of us.”

Sophia’s smile was small, warm, and it hit him harder than it should’ve. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They walked out together, the afternoon sun warm on their backs. Grim carried the bag without being asked. Sophia didn’t try to take it from him.

The park was quiet, a few kids on the swings, a couple walking a dog, the rustle of leaves overhead. Grim found a bench beneath an old oak tree, its branches stretching wide like it had been waiting for them.

Sophia sat beside him, close enough that he felt the warmth of her through the space between them.

She unpacked the containers: arroz con pollo, warm tortillas wrapped in a towel, a small jar of Abuela’s salsa. The smell hit him first, rich, warm, familiar in a way he didn’t have a name for.

Sophia nudged a container toward him. “Eat.”

He huffed a quiet breath. “You sound like her.”

“Good,” she said, smiling. “She’s usually right.”