Page 98 of Grim

One moment she was in Grim’s arms, the world a blur of headlights, the growl of engines, and the metallic taste of fear still coating her tongue. The next, she was standing in her own doorway, her house smelling like vanilla and cinnamon and old books — scents that should’ve wrapped around her like comfort.

Instead, they hit her like a punch.

Her knees wobbled. Her body locked up. Her ribs tightened like someone had cinched a belt around her chest.

Grim stayed behind her, a silent wall of heat and tension. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t speak. He just stood close enough that she could feel the weight of him, the steadiness of him, the way he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

She took one step inside.

Her house felt smaller than she remembered. The shadows deeper. The air heavier. The quiet too loud. She blinked hard, trying to anchor herself in the familiar, the framed photos on the wall, the soft throw blanket on the couch, the stack of books she’d meant to read.

But her body didn’t recognize any of it.

Her legs trembled again. Her vision blurred at the edges.

Grim moved, just a shift of weight, just a hand reaching toward her elbow to steady her—

And her body detonated.

Sophia flinched so violently she nearly stumbled backward, a strangled sound ripping from her throat. Her heart slammed against her ribs, her breath catching in a sharp, painful gasp.

For a split second, the room vanished.

Concrete walls. Cold metal. A hand grabbing her too hard, too fast. The scrape of a cage door. The echo of footsteps she couldn’t outrun.

“No.” The word tore out of her, raw and instinctive, before she could stop it.

Grim froze.

Absolutely still. Like he’d been carved from stone. Like he was afraid even breathing might break her.

His hand hovered in the air between them, fingers curled, knuckles white, every muscle in his arm pulled tight like he was holding back a storm.

Sophia pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to force air into her lungs. Her pulse thrashed under her skin, wild and uneven. “I’m… I didn’t mean… I just…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Grim said quietly.

His voice was low, rough, steady — the kind of steady that came from a man who’d learned how to hold himself together in the middle of chaos. He didn’t step closer. He didn’t reach for her again. He just stood there, anchored and unmovable, giving her space to breathe.

Sophia swallowed hard, shame burning hot under her skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Grim lowered his hand slowly, deliberately, like he was defusing a bomb. “You’ve been through enough. You react how you react.”

She looked at him then — really looked — and the guilt hit her like a punch. His eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t hurt. They were terrified.

Not of her. For her.

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to pull away.”

“I know.” His jaw flexed, but his eyes stayed gentle. “I’ll move slower.”

Something inside her cracked, a small, fragile thing she’d been holding together with sheer will. The way he said it, like a promise instead of a burden, made her chest ache.

She nodded, still shaky. “Okay.”

Grim stepped back half a pace, giving her space, giving her control. “Tell me what you need.”

She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything except that she didn’t want him to leave. The thought of being alone in the quiet made her stomach twist.