Page 170 of Dark Night of the Soul

I was hearing him—the moment he’d given it to me. No ceremony. No warning. Just a silent, deliberate offering, like he’d placed something priceless in my palm and trusted I wouldn’t drop it.

I’d thought it was intimacy. I’d thought it was love. I hadn’t understood it was also access.

An address. A point the world could grab. And I had it.

Not in a ritual. Not with witnesses. In the dark, with his mouth against my skin, like it was another kind of honesty. Like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing a man like him could ever offer.

My fingers tightened around his hand. Like my grip could rewrite the rules.

The trust wasn’t poetic. It was tactical. It was fatal. It was a blade laid across my palms and labeled handle with care.

And he’d given it to me, anyway.

I chose you, he’d said.

Not as a comfort. Not as a line. As a decision. As a claim. As a vow he’d carved into the dark and handed to me with both hands.

Me. He chose me.

The thought didn’t soothe. It cracked something open. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry or scream.

Behind me, Ludwig shifted.

He’d been watching my face. Watching the realization take shape.

“Now you understand,” he said.

My throat burned. “I do.”

“Good,” Ludwig murmured. “Because if the wrong hands get it… bullets become the least of your problems.”

I gripped him again like my hand was the only thing keeping him here.

“Welcome to the Quiet Watch, Anna,” Ludwig said, a smile in his voice. “You’re one of us now.”

The words hit me like a thunderbolt.

I was part of them.

Not because I was useful. Not because I was dangerous.

Because I was chosen. Whether Ludwig knew that or not.

Emotion clogged my throat, aware of how much that mattered. How much being chosen always had. I didn’t trust myself to sit with that feeling for more than a second.

“So,” I said, breaking the moment, “is there a secret handshake? Or a blood ritual?”

Ludwig snickered. “The blood ritual comes later.”

I smiled. “Good to know.”

Ludwig’s expression didn’t change. Another long silence as we both sat together.

“You should get some sleep,” he said again, urging. “Ulrich is on a supply run. But he’ll be back. I can keep watch.”

“No,” I said again. Then, quiet, “I can’t.”

He unfolded his tall frame from the chair. “I’ll be in the next room.”