Page 166 of Only the Hunter

A claim on ground neither of us is giving back.

Her mouth is warm and steady and present. She tastes faintly of mint and coffee and the long day she’s carried.

When she exhales against me, it isn’t shaky—it’s controlled release. The kind that comes after holding everything together for hours.

I caress her waist. To comfort her. To ground myself.

She leans in fully.

And for the first time since clocking the van, the math stops running in my head.

There’s no variable to calculate.

Just her.

“If this had been bad, if you’d—” Her voice cracks. “You don’t get to bleed quietly. That doesn’t happen again,” she murmurs.

A faint, humorless huff escapes me. “Noted.”

“And I don’t get to decide alone how far I go.”

I brush my thumb along her jaw.

“Deal.”

Her gaze softens. Not weaker. Softer.

Atlas makes a small, judgmental sound from the chair.

Evie smiles into my shoulder.

And everything settles into place.

Not because the case is over.

Not because the danger is gone.

But because we’ve stopped negotiating whether we stand together.

We already are.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“I’ll never argue with that.”

She swats my rear playfully and strides into my bedroom, pulling back the comforter and fluffing pillows.

“Lie down. I’m going to wash my face and I’ll join you.” She pats the mattress, directing me.

“How’d you know which side?”

“Because I sleep on the right side, so this side is yours.”

“Staking your claim.” I pull her to me, press my lips to her temple. “I like it.”

“If you want the other⁠—”

“If you’re in my bed, I’m good,” I tell her, grimacing from the ache as the mattress sinks from my weight.