Chloe’s POV
The silence in my room felt different tonight. Less like a cage and more like a quiet space to process the absolute shift in my world.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Nash standing in the center of that courtroom, the hard edge in his eyes softening as he handed Tabitha her life back. A man who could tear threats apart with his bare hands, yet possessed the kind of restraint that meant he chose to protect someone who was broken instead. The contrast hit me square in the chest, a quiet, steady pull of gratitude I couldn't brush off.
On the kitchen counter sat a small glass bowl, surrounded by fresh yarrow, comfrey, and sage I’d pulled from my garden earlier. I kept thinking about the nasty, raw scratches lining Nash’s forearms from the midnight scuffle, injuries he’d taken
