The night doesn’t erase what almost happened.
It softens it, blunts the edges just enough that I can breathe around the memory instead of choking on it, but the awareness lingers when I wake, a quiet echo under my ribs where the bond hums with patient insistence. I lie still for a while, staring at the ceiling as the packhouse settles into early-morning quiet, and I let myself acknowledge the truth without dressing it up.
Adam stopped.
That matters more than how close he came.
I roll onto my side and push myself upright, feet finding the floor by instinct, and the bond shifts as I move, not pulling, not flaring, just present in a way that feels heavier than yesterday. It’s like carrying a shared secret in my chest, one that doesn’t want to be spoken yet but refuses to be ignored.
I sh
