Page 134 of Dark Night of the Soul

And as I held her there, listening to the city breathe beyond the balcony doors, I understood the truth I’d been circling since the call ended.

This wasn’t about retaliation.

It was about erasure.

And when we were finished, there would be no doubt who had come for them—or why.

Chapter 38 | Anna

I couldn’t sleep.

I kept replaying everything on a merciless loop. I kept thinking about all those stolen private moments that were between us and knowing, deep in my soul, that was how they tried to rip us apart. They used that information to their advantage. They learned how we communicated with each other in all those moments—both casual and intimate—and it made me sick to my stomach.

I hated the thought.

He had tempered my impulsiveness with steady logic. Walked me back from the edge of rage without ever making me feel small.

And I thought about that. How I accepted it without argument. He was no longer deciding for me. He was accepting me for what I was—now—and standing with me. Not shielding.

But what he didn’t know—and couldn’t—was that sometimes I wanted to be shielded. Sometimes I wanted to be rescued. Sometimes I wanted him to take the weight from my hands and tell me I didn’t have to carry it alone.

You can do whatever you need to do. And I’ll stand with you.

With me. That’s what he’d said. Because he knew me well enough to know I was never going to sit still for long.

But I was different now. I was no longer the reckless, impulsive person I was six months ago. I was no longer the woman who’d climb the mountain alone and burn myself to the ground.

I also thought about all those times I tried—desperately—to push him away. To outrun what was forming between us. To convince myself that distance was safer than attachment.

And still he stayed.

When I ran, he followed.

And he was still here. Staying. Telling me things like, I’ll stand with you, and you won’t be alone on the other side of it, and I’ll still be here.

There was such a bone deep ache of longing that swept through me, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. The ache lodged there, unrelenting, until it felt like breathing itself depended on him staying.

But the thing was… I didn’t need him to stay. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him with me inside the wreckage of my life.

How do you tell someone your world will never be the same if they disappeared?

I stared at the ceiling a moment longer, then shoved the blankets aside and rose. Staying here with my spiraling thoughts felt like letting the violation win. I was done letting it win.

I crossed the tiny apartment, my steps silent against the worn carpet.

He was where I expected him to be. Near the open balcony. Half in shadow. Watching a city that had no idea what it was standing beside.

Only the streetlight outlined him—still, watchful, endlessly present.

Even though I never slowed, he reached for me.

Like he already knew.

I climbed into his lap. His arm came around me instantly, solid and sure, and I buried my face against his neck. Warm. Familiar. Steady. His scent wrapped around me as the sea breeze rolled in, raising gooseflesh along my arms and legs.

All night, my body had forgotten what safety felt like. Now it remembered.

I was barefoot, in sleep shorts and a tank, aware of how small I felt in his lap.