"Sometimes you keep a fire alive just to prove you can still burn."
The steam from the shower still clung to the mirror, blurring my reflection into soft shapes and fogged outlines. I stood at the sink, brushing my teeth slowly, trying to focus on the minty taste, the repetitive motion, something... anything that wasn't the spiral in my head.
The threats, warnings, the roses... Cup of Dreams being gone, burned down to ash and twisted metal, the break-in. And every thread, every shadow, every cold shiver led back to one person...
Clint.
He had motive. He had access. He had the temper, the obsession with power, the desperation. Every sign pointed to him like the universe was tugging me by the hair and screaming, Pay attention, Sophie!
But nothing made sense either. Clint wasn't stupid. Reckless, yes. Arrogant, absolutely. But careless? No. If he wanted something done, he wouldn't leave trails. He wouldn't be that sloppy... unless he wanted me to find out... but that doesn't make sense either.
Then who is it? And why me?
My phone buzzed against the porcelain sink. I froze, brush halfway out of my mouth; then spat, rinsed quickly, and grabbed it.
Unknown Number:
Maybe I should kill him first :)
My breath hitched.
Before I could process the words, another message appeared. A picture.
My vision tunneled.
It was me and Grey in the car this morning; he was driving, eyes on the road, calm as usual. I was looking out the window. The angle of the photo was from a distance—someone watching, someone following.
My fingers went cold instantly.
Then numb.
Grey.
The toothbrush clattered to the floor.
No, no, no. Not him.
They cannot hurt him. They cannot take him.
I can't lose him.
My chest tightened so violently it felt like the walls were closing in. My breath stuttered then vanished entirely. I grabbed onto the towel holder, but the metal gave way and clattered loudly against the tiles.
The noise shattered something inside me.
My knees buckled.
The floor met me cold and hard, but it didn't matter. The room dimmed, tilted, stretched. My own heartbeat echoed like a drum in my skull. My throat wouldn't open; the air wouldn't come in.
"I can't lose him... I can't lose him..."
The words fell out of me without permission, barely sound, just broken air.
Everything felt distant. Wrong.
The walls blurred, turning from white to grey to pitch black around the edges. My hands trembled uncontrollably. I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. My thoughts weren't thoughts... they were waves crashing over each other until I couldn't tell fear from memory.
"I can't lose him—"
My voice cracked.
The world kept shrinking.
Shrinking.
Shrinking.
Until a sudden warmth cut through the cold.
"Sophie." His voice... low, steady, familiar.
A weight draped around my shoulders. Soft. Warm.
Grey.
He crouched beside me, pulling a blanket around me, tucking it gently at my back as if gathering all my broken pieces and holding them together. "Hey, I'm right here," he murmured, closer now. "You're okay."
I shook my head violently, tears spilling hot and fast. "No—no, I can't—they said he'll kill you—Grey, I can't lose you too—"
His hand found the back of my head, steadying, grounding. "Sophie, look at me."
I tried. My eyes kept flickering, but I forced them open enough to see him—kneeling on the cold tiles, jaw tight with worry, eyes full of something... protective and warm.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly. "No one is touching me. You hear me? I'm safe."
I sobbed, breath shaking uncontrollably. "You don't know that—this person, they—"
"I know that I'm here," Grey cut in softly but firmly. "I'm here with you. And I'm not leaving your side."
He lifted the blanket and shifted closer, letting me lean slightly into him without forcing it. The warmth radiating from him seeped through the panic, easing the sharp edges a bit.
My breathing began to slow, only because his matched mine—calm, measured, steady. He stayed right there, grounding me.
"Sophie," he whispered, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard. "You're not losing anyone. Not tonight. Not ever like this."
I closed my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks as the coldness faded inch by inch.
Somewhere between the shaking and the shallow breaths, my hand brushed his.
Barely. Accidentally. But it felt like the earth stopped for half a second.
His hand was warm. Solid. Real.
And suddenly I realized something terrifying.
I need him.
Not professionally. Not because he's my bodyguard. Not because he's strong or smart or always there before I even call...
But because being near him felt like the first real breath after drowning.
I tightened my fingers just slightly around his. A quiet, unspoken plea. Grey didn't pull away.
Didn't question it. He just held my hand gently, thumb brushing once against my skin in a small, grounding reassurance.
I needed him.
And that made this more dangerous than anything the unknown number could threaten.
Because losing Grey... that would destroy me.
And whoever sent that message?
Whoever watched us from afar?
They knew it too.