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“You are the least reassuring person I’ve ever met.”

“Still here though.”

I hate how much that answer affects me now.

Because he’s right.

I am still here.

Despite the storm.

Despite the fear.

Despite the fact that every instinct I’ve ever had says run before you get attached to something you can lose.

Rhett studies me for another long second before speaking again.

“Move over.”

My pulse stumbles. “What?”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.”

“Nora.”

I look down.

My hands are trembling against the blankets.

Damn it.

Heat creeps up my neck immediately, embarrassment mixing unpleasantly with fear.

Rhett sets the rifle against the nightstand within arm’s reach before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside me. The mattress dips under his weight instantly.

Everything about him feels heavy.

Solid.

Safe.

Which is honestly becoming a problem.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says quietly.

Something inside my chest tightens painfully at that.

Because I’ve spent years pretending.

Pretending threats don’t bother me.

Pretending harassment rolls off my back.

Pretending I’m tougher than fear because people respect competence more than vulnerability.

But tonight?