Page 142 of Micah

I've hauled rucksacks loaded with enough gear to break a lesser man.

I've lifted generators, ammunition crates, server racks, and enough equipment to build command centers in the middle of nowhere.

None of it ever felt like this.

None of it ever mattered like this.

Because none of those things were alive.

None of them smiled at me the way Sloane does.

None of them looked at me like I was worth trusting.

She isn't too heavy.

She's perfect.

Fucking precious.

And that's one hell of a difference.

I carry her down the hallway toward my bedroom, every light in the cabin casting warm pools of amber across the log walls.

The place suddenly feels different.

Not because anything's changed.

Because she changed it.

I've lived here for months.

Worked here.

Slept here.

It was just a cabin when I started.

Functional.

Quiet.

A place to recharge between deliveries and security contracts.

But tonight?

It feels like a home for the first time.

Or the home it could be.

If she'll let it.

If she says yes.

I pause in the doorway of the bedroom for just a second.

Moonlight spills across the quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed.

Her quilt now if she'll have it.