Page 218 of Scarlet Wars
Because this wasn’t the first time her subconsciousness called out for me, even when the rest of her was barely aware.
“Emma,” I said with a calm I didn’t feel.
I reached out, fingers threading gently through the damp strands of hair clinging to her forehead. She was burning up with sweat, skin too warm, too pale. My thumb brushed across her temple, slow and careful, like she might break if I pushed too hard.
“Baby,” I whispered as I leaned in. “Wake up.”
She whimpered—soft and sharp—like the sound had clawed its way up from her chest without permission.
“Love,” I murmured, my voice soft. “Open your eyes. Come back to me.”
If I could’ve pulled her from that dream with my bare hands, I would’ve torn the entire thing apart, brick by fucking brick.
She jerked again, caught in some invisible struggle, another soft sob tearing from her lips.
I caught her at the waist and pulled her against me, my hand sliding up to her cheek to turn her toward me. “Nightcrawler. Look at me.”
Her eyes snapped open. Wide. Glossy. Haunted.
She stared at me like she didn’t know where she was. Like I was a ghost. Her chest heaved, her lips trembled, and then the first tear slipped free.
“Caden?” she whispered, reaching for me, but then flinched, like she wasn’t sure if I was real.
And then the damfinallybroke.
She curled in on herself, shoulders shaking, the sobs silent at first, then full-bodied and raw. The kind of crying that came from deep, unhealed places.
“Fuck,” I muttered, as I dragged her closer, rolling her into me until her body lined up with mine.
Shemeltedinto me like her bones had stopped working.
Like she’d been waiting for someone to come tear down the wall she’d been bracing against for too long.
I slid an arm under her head and wrapped the other around her back, gripping her like I could squeeze the pain out of her if I held her tight enough.
She buried her face in my chest as the sobs came harder, louder, and messier. Her hands fisted in my shirt, clutching at me like she needed somethingrealto hold onto or she’d drown.
I held her. Fiercely. Without space. Without apology.
My jaw was tight, my pulse hammering, and every muscle in my body locked like I was holding the weight of her grief myself.
She didn’t have to survive this alone. Not tonight, or ever. Not as long as I was alive.
After what felt like a lifetime, her sobs started to slow. One breath at a time. Shaky. Shallow. But there.
Still clinging to me.
Still breathing.
And then?—
“I can’t unsee it.”
The words were barely audible, but I heard them. Felt them. Like they were carved straight into my heart.
“I can’t unsee them dying,” she whispered, falling apart at the edges. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m right back there. With those people—thosemonsters—killing my parents. I can’t stop it. I can’t prevent it. I’m justthere.Watching them die.”
Her whole body shook against mine. Not the panicked tremors from before, but something slower. Sicker. Grief settling in her bones like rot.
