Chapter 7: The Lecture Hall and the Long Walk
The fluorescent lights hummed like trapped insects.
Yuki stared at the back of the head in front of her—some guy with a bad haircut and a worse posture—and tried to remember how to breathe. The lecture hall was too bright. Too loud. The professor's voice droned on about the Meiji Restoration, about samurai class dissolution, about the end of an era, and normally she would have been scribbling notes, cross-referencing dates, losing herself in the neat order of history.
Today, she couldn't focus on anything except the ghost of Kyle's mouth on her skin.
She shifted in her seat. Her thighs pressed together under the desk, and she felt it again—that phantom pressure, his fingers curling inside her, his thumb circling her clit while he whispered things against her neck that made her see white. Her cheeks burned. She ducked her head lower, letting her copper hair fall like a curtain.
The professor clicked to the next slide. A woodblock print of a samurai standing at a crossroads. The man's face was half-hidden by his kasa, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Yuki's chest tightened.
She hadn't heard from her father since yesterday. No texts. No calls. No apologies. Not that she expected any. The man had never apologized for anything in his life—not for missing her kendo tournaments, not for forgetting her birthdays, not for the way he looked through her like she was furniture.
But the sword. God, the sword.
She'd spent half the night staring at the empty space against her wall where Kagami used to rest. The other half she'd spent pressed against Kyle's chest, listening to his heartbeat, trying to convince herself this was real. That he was real.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out under the desk, careful to keep it hidden.
Kenji: u ok? heard dad yelling last night
Yuki's jaw tightened. She typed back with one thumb.
Yuki: fine
Kenji: u sure?
Yuki: yeah
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Kenji: ok. luv u
She shoved the phone back in her pocket. Her eyes stung, but she blinked it away. She wasn't going to cry in the middle of a lecture about the end of the samurai era. She wasn't.
The professor's voice faded into white noise. Yuki's mind drifted back to the weight of Kyle's body over hers, the way he'd looked at her like she was something worth protecting. Not because she was weak—but because she was his to protect. The thought made her stomach flip.
She'd never had that before. Someone who wanted her. Someone who cared like him.
The lecture ended with the professor's usual reminder about the midterm essay. Students shuffled out in a wave of yawns and phone-checking, but Yuki stayed frozen in her seat. The hall emptied around her like water draining from a sink. She stayed until the last person left, until the fluorescent lights flickered and hummed and the silence pressed against her ears.
Then she stood, gathered her bag, and hugged it against her chest like a shield.
The hallway was worse. Crowded. Loud. Bodies pressed in on all sides, laughing, talking, living. Yuki kept her head down, her boots clicking against the linoleum. She focused on the exit sign—that green glow at the end of the tunnel—and told herself to keep moving.
She didn't see him until she was almost through the door.
Kyle was leaning against the railing outside the humanities building, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a dark henley that stretched across his shoulders in a way that should be illegal, and jeans that hugged his thighs just right. His hair was still damp from the shower—she could smell the soap from ten feet away, clean and sharp and him.
He looked up when she stepped through the door. His face broke into that smile. The one that made her knees weak.
"Hey," he said.
Yuki's whole body lit up like a struck match.
She didn't think. She didn't hesitate. She crossed the distance between them in three quick strides and threw her arms around his neck.
He caught her easily, his hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against him. She buried her face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling the solid warmth of him through the thin fabric of his shirt.
"You're here," she mumbled into his henley.
"Told you I would be."
She pulled back just enough to look at him. His dark eyes were soft, his smile gentle. He reached up and tucked a strand of copper hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against the bruise on her cheek.
She flinched.
His expression darkened. "Still hurts?"
"Only when I touch it."
He frowned. "I should've killed him."
"Kyle."
"I'm serious."
"You're not a murderer."
"First time for everything."
She laughed—a real laugh, surprising herself—and he grinned.
There were people watching. She could feel their eyes on her, hear the whispers starting. The playboy and the weird goth girl. The guy who could have anyone and the girl who'd never had anyone. The math didn't add up. It never did.
But then Kyle tilted her chin up with one finger, and the whispers faded to static.
He kissed her. Slow. Sure. His lips moved against hers like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her steady, and she melted into him.
When he pulled back, her cheeks were flushed and her heart was pounding.
"Better?" he asked.
"So much better."
He laced his fingers through hers and tugged her toward the stairs. "Come on. I'm starving."
They walked across campus hand in hand. The autumn air was crisp, sharp with the smell of dying leaves and woodsmoke from someone's fireplace. Yuki kept her eyes forward, but she could feel the weight of stares, the low murmur of gossip following them like a shadow.
She didn't care.
The café was tucked between the library and the art building, a tiny hole-in-the-wall with mismatched furniture and the best chai lattes on campus. Kyle ordered for both of them—a large black coffee for himself, a chai for her—and led her to a corner booth where they could sit side by side.
His thigh pressed against hers under the table. She didn't move away.
"So," he said, stirring his coffee. "How's your head?"
"Still spinning." She wrapped both hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. "I keep replaying it. The sound he made when he hit me. Like he was surprised. Like he didn't know his own strength."
Kyle's jaw tightened. "He knew exactly what he was doing."
"I know." She took a sip of her chai. It burned her tongue, but she didn't care. "I just—I keep thinking about my mom. What she would say if she saw us. If she saw him."
"What would she say?"
Yuki stared into her mug. The foam swirled in lazy circles.
"She'd say he was never good enough for her. She used to tell me that, actually. After they fought. She'd come into my room and sit on my bed and tell me that love wasn't supposed to hurt. That if someone hurt you, it meant they didn't know how to love you right."
Kyle was quiet for a moment. Then: "She sounds like a smart woman."
"She was. She was the smartest person I ever knew." Yuki's voice cracked. She swallowed hard. "She would've hated him for this. The sword. All of it."
"I hate him for this too."
"I know."
They sat in silence for a while. The café hummed around them—the hiss of the espresso machine, the low murmur of other conversations, the soft jazz playing from a speaker in the corner. Yuki leaned into Kyle's side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"I used to think about running away," she said. "When I was younger. I'd pack a bag and hide it under my bed, and I'd wait for the right moment. But I never knew where to go. Mom was gone. Kenji was still in school. I didn't want to leave him behind."
"Kenji's lucky to have you."
"He's the only reason I stayed sane. Him and sensei."
"Your kendo teacher?"
"Yeah." She smiled faintly. "He's more of a father to me than my real one. He taught me everything. How to hold a sword. How to breathe. How to stand your ground even when you're scared."
"Is he good?"
"He's the best."
Kyle's hand found hers under the table. His thumb traced circles on her palm.
"Will you take me to meet him sometime?"
Yuki looked up at him. His expression was earnest, almost shy. She felt something warm bloom in her chest.
"You want to meet my sensei?"
"Yeah. I want to meet everyone who matters to you."
She didn't know what to say. So she kissed him instead.
The café emptied slowly as the afternoon wore on. They talked until the windows went dark and the streetlamps flickered on outside, their reflections swimming in the glass. Yuki told him about her mother's family in Kyoto, about the old house with the paper walls and the garden full of stones. She told him about the first time she'd held Kagami, how it had felt heavier than she expected, how her mother had laughed and said that was the weight of responsibility.
Kyle told her about his own family. His mother, a nurse who worked double shifts to keep the lights on. His father, obsessed with business since before he could remember. He told her about the gym, about how lifting weights was the only thing that made him feel like he was in control of something.
"I used to be scrawny," he said, grinning. "Like, really scrawny. Kids at school used to call me stick bug."
Yuki raised an eyebrow. "You?"
"I swear. I was a late bloomer."
"I don't believe you."
"It's true! I didn't hit my growth spurt until sophomore year. And then I started lifting, and everything changed."
"So you became a gym rat."
"Are you calling me a rat?"
"A very handsome rat."
He laughed. "I'll take it."
They left the café when the barista started stacking chairs. The air outside was cold, their breath misting in front of their faces. Yuki pulled her jacket tighter around herself, and Kyle draped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his warmth.
"You want to come back to mine?" he asked. His voice was casual, but she could hear the undercurrent of something else. Something hungry.
She looked up at him. His eyes were dark, searching. Waiting for her answer.
"Yes."
The frat house was quieter than she expected. A couple of guys were playing video games in the living room, but they barely glanced up when Kyle led her past. His room was upstairs, at the end of the hall. He unlocked the door and gestured her inside.
It was exactly what she expected. A weight bench in the corner. A poster of some action movie on the wall. Clothes piled on a chair. But there were details she didn't expect, too—a bookshelf crammed with sci-fi novels, a framed photo of a woman with his same dark eyes, a small cactus on the windowsill.
"Your mom?" she asked, pointing to the photo.
"Yeah."
"She's beautiful."
"She's the best."
Yuki saw herself in that moment—a kid who understood grief, who knew what it was like to hold onto the small things. She turned to him, and he was already there, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.
"I want you," she said.
His hands found her waist. His mouth found hers.
There was no hesitation this time.
He kissed her. Her back hit the edge of his desk before she realized he'd been moving her, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his henley.
His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that made her head spin. She dragged her nails down his back through his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of muscle beneath the cotton. He groaned against her lips.
"I've wanted this," she breathed between kisses, "for so long."
"Yeah?" His voice was rough. "How long?"
"High school. Since the first time Kenji brought you home."
He pulled back, his eyes wide. "High school?"
"Shut up and kiss me."
He laughed, low and warm, and obeyed.
His hands slid under her t-shirt, palms flat against the bare skin of her back. She arched into him, pressing her chest against his, needing more contact, more heat, more of everything. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, feather-light, and she shivered.
He pulled back again. His chest was rising fast, his pupils blown wide.
"Yuki." He cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "Are you sure? Because if we do this, I need you to be sure."
She looked at him. Really looked at him. The boy who'd sat with her at parties when she had no one to talk to. The boy who'd walked her home from school when Kenji had practice. The boy who remembered her favorite tea, her favorite films, the name of her mother's sword.
"I've never been more sure of anything."
He kissed her forehead. Her nose. The corner of her mouth.
"Okay," he said. "Okay."
She pulled his henley over his head and tossed it somewhere behind her. The sight of him—bare-chested, golden skin stretched over hard muscle—made her mouth go dry. She'd felt his body against hers two nights ago, but seeing it was different. The defined lines of his pecs. The ridges of his abs. The way his shoulders seemed to block out the light.
"You're staring," he said.
"You're—" She gestured vaguely at all of him. "That."
He grinned. "Eloquent."
She smacked his chest, and he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.
His fingers found the hem of her shirt. He raised an eyebrow—a question. She nodded.
He pulled it over her head slowly, carefully, like he was unwrapping something precious. She sat there in her sports bra, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Don't," he said softly, pulling her arms down. "You're beautiful."
"I'm not—"
"You are." His hands ran down her sides, over the subtle curve of her waist, the faint definition of her abs. "God, you're fit. What is this?"
"Kendo," she said, breathless. "Ten years of it."
"I love kendo."
She laughed. "You've never done kendo."
"I love that you do kendo."
She kissed him again, harder this time, and pushed him backward until his knees hit the bed. He sat down, and she climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Her boots were still on, which was awkward, so she kicked them off, sending them thudding somewhere against the wall.
"Nice," Kyle said.
"Shut up."
She kissed him again, deeper, her hips rocking against his. She could feel him through his jeans, hard and ready, and a thrill shot through her. She'd done this before—sort of. Fooled around with a guy at a party freshman year, hands under clothes, nothing more. But she'd never wanted anyone like this.
She reached for his belt.
He caught her wrist. "Wait."
"What?"
"Just—" He swallowed. "I want to make sure this is good for you. It's your first time. I don't want to mess it up."
"You're not going to mess it up."
"I might."
"You won't."
"Yuki—"
She kissed him quiet. Then she undid his belt, popped the button, pulled down the zipper. He lifted his hips, and she tugged his jeans and boxers down his thighs, then off completely.
She looked down.
"Okay," she said, her voice a little high. "Okay."
She'd seen pictures. She'd watched porn, more out of curiosity than anything else. But seeing a guy naked in real life was different. More real. More intimidating.
Kyle's hand found her chin, tilting her face up. "Hey. We don't have to—"
"I want to."
She wrapped her fingers around him, feeling the weight of him, the heat. He inhaled sharply. She moved her hand slowly, a little unsure, and he groaned, his head falling back.
"Like that?" she asked.
"Fuck. Yeah. Like that."
She kissed him as she worked her hand up and down, learning the rhythm that made him twitch, the pressure that made his breath stutter. His hands ran through her hair, over her shoulders, down her back.
"I want to taste you," she said against his mouth.
He pulled back. "You don't have to—"
"I want to."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded.
She slid off his lap, her knees hitting the floor. The carpet was rough, but she barely noticed. She was too focused on him, on the way his chest rose and fell, on the way he watched her with dark, hungry eyes.
She kissed his thigh. His hip. His stomach, tracing the lines of muscle with her tongue. He twitched beneath her.
"Tease," he muttered.
She smiled. Then she took him in her hand again and brought her mouth to the tip.
He was salty and warm and foreign, and she had no idea what she was doing, but Kyle didn't seem to care. His hand fisted in her hair, not pushing, just holding, and he made sounds—low, guttural sounds that made her feel powerful.
She took him deeper, and he gasped.
"Yuki—Yuki, wait—"
She pulled back. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. But you're going to make me—" He pulled her up, onto the bed, onto her back. "Not yet."
He kissed her. Then his hands were on her jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling them down her legs along with her socks. She lay there in just her sports bra and panties, feeling exposed and alive.
"You're shaking," he said.
"I'm nervous."
"We can stop."
"If you stop, I'll kill you."
He laughed. "Okay. Noted."
He kissed down her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her chest. He pulled her bra down and took her nipple in his mouth, and she arched off the bed, a moan escaping her throat.
His hand slid down her stomach, fingers hooking under the waistband of her panties.
"This okay?" he asked.
"Yes. Yes, just—"
Heis hand was between her legs, fingers sliding through her folds, and she was already so wet, so ready, and he groaned against her neck.
"You're soaked."
"Shut up."
"Fuck, you're perfect."
He found her clit with his thumb, circling slowly, and she grasped at the sheets, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. When he slid a finger inside her, she cried out.
"More," she said. "Please."
He added another finger, curling them just right, and her vision went white. His mouth was on her neck, hot and wet, and his thumb never stopped moving, and she felt herself climbing, climbing, climbing—
"Kyle—"
"I've got you."
She came with a sharp cry, her body arching, her nails digging into his back. He held her through it, whispering in her ear, telling her she was beautiful, she was perfect, she was everything.
When she came back down, she was trembling.
He pulled his hand away and lay beside her, pulling her against his chest. His heart was racing under her ear.
"Okay?" he asked.
"More than okay."
"Good."
She looked up at him. His face was flushed, his hair a mess, his eyes soft.
"I want you," she said. "All of you."
"You mean—"
"Yeah."
"You sure—"
"Yeah."
The word hung between them, small and certain. Kyle's hand still rested on her hip, his thumb tracing idle circles against her skin. She could feel the heat of him, the solid weight of his body beside hers, and she wanted more.
She wanted everything.
"Yuki." His voice was careful, measured. "You just came. Your body's still—"
"I know what my body's doing." She turned onto her side to face him, propping herself up on one elbow. "I know what I want."
His jaw tightened. She watched the conflict play out across his face—the wanting and the holding back, the hunger and the hesitation. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his touch impossibly gentle.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
She kissed him. Soft at first, then deeper, her tongue sliding against his until he groaned and pulled her closer. When she broke away, his eyes were darker than before.
"I trust you," she said. "Do you trust me?"
"That's not—"
"Do you trust me?"
He exhaled. "Yeah. I trust you."
"Then stop overthinking this."
She pushed him onto his back and climbed over him, her knees bracketing his hips. His hands found her waist immediately, gripping tight, and she felt the hard length of him pressing against her inner thigh.
She leaned down and kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way his breath hitched when she rolled her hips. His fingers dug into her skin.
"You're going to kill me," he muttered against her mouth.
"Probably."
She slid down his body, kissing his chest, his stomach, the sharp cut of his hip bone. When she settled between his legs, he was already hard and waiting, and she wrapped her fingers around him without hesitation.
"Yuki—"
"Shh."
She took him in her mouth, and his head fell back against the pillow. His hand found her hair, not pushing, just resting there, and she worked him slowly, learning what made him twitch, what made his breath come faster.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're so good at that."
She pulled back just long enough to say, "I've never done this before."
"Could've fooled me."
She smiled and took him deeper.
His hips bucked, and he groaned, low and rough. She could feel him getting closer, could taste the salt on her tongue, and she wanted—she wanted—
She stopped.
Kyle's eyes flew open. "What—"
She sat back on her heels, suddenly shy. Her cheeks burned, and she looked away, focusing on a spot on the wall just past his shoulder.
"I have to tell you something."
He propped himself up on his elbows. "Okay."
"It's—" She bit her lip. "It's kind of embarrassing."
"Yuki. You just had your mouth on my dick. I think we're past embarrassing."
She laughed despite herself, a nervous giggle that she couldn't quite control. "It's not that. It's just—I've never told anyone this before."
He sat up fully, his expression shifting from lust to concern. "Hey. You can tell me anything."
She took a breath. Then another.
"I have a praise kink."
Silence.
"That's it?" he asked.
"That's it?" she repeated, incredulous. "What do you mean, that's it?"
"I mean—" He shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I kind of figured."
"You did not."
"You just spent the last ten minutes making these little sounds every time I told you how good you were. I'm not stupid."
She covered her face with both hands. "Oh my god."
He pulled her hands away, his grip warm and firm. "Hey. Look at me."
She looked at him.
"You want me to praise you?"
Her face burned hotter. "I—yes."
"Okay." He kissed her. Soft. Sweet. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"
She shook her head.
"You are. Every inch of you." He kissed her jaw. "Your hair, this copper color, like fire." He kissed her neck. "Your eyes, so dark I could drown in them." He kissed her collarbone. "The way you move, like you're always ready for a fight."
She giggled, the sound escaping before she could stop it. "Kyle—"
"Shh. I'm not done." He slid his hands down her sides and hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties. "You're the most incredible person I've ever met. You're strong. You're smart. You're brave."
He pulled her panties down her legs, slowly, deliberately, and she lifted her hips to help him. When they were gone, tossed somewhere behind him, he looked at her like she was something sacred.
"And you're so fucking perfect," he said. "Do you know that? Perfect."
She was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. "You're laying it on a little thick."
"I'm not even close to done."
She kissed him quiet, then pushed him back onto the mattress. The shyness was gone now, replaced by something hungrier, something that burned in her chest and between her legs.
She slid down his body again, and this time when she took him in her mouth, she didn't hold back.
Kyle moaned. His hand fisted in her hair.
"That's it," he breathed. "God, Yuki, that's—you're doing so good. So good for me."
She moaned around him, and he shuddered.
"Fuck. You like that? You like being told how good you are?"
She pulled back just enough to nod, her lips slick, her eyes dark.
"You're amazing. You're perfect. You're—" He groaned, his hips twitching. "Yuki, I'm gonna—you need to stop."
She didn't stop.
"Yuki." He pulled her up, his hands under her arms, and she let him, her body sliding against his until she was straddling his hips again. "I said stop."
"I don't want to stop."
"I know." He cupped her face in both hands. "But I want this to be good for you. First time should be special."
"It will be. You're here."
He kissed her forehead. "I want to make you feel good. Not just get myself off."
"You already made me feel good."
"Not like this." His hands slid down to her hips. "I want to be inside you. I want to watch your face when I make you come."
Her breath caught.
"Is that okay?" he asked.
"Yes. Yes, that's—yes."
He lifted her, shifting her until she was hovering over him, his cock positioned at her entrance. She reached down to guide him, her fingers wrapping around him, and she lowered herself slowly.
The tip pressed against her, and she gasped.
"That's it," Kyle murmured. "Nice and slow."
She pushed down. Nothing happened.
She tried again, harder, and a sharp pain lanced through her. She winced.
"Hey." Kyle's hands gripped her hips, holding her steady. "Hey, stop. Look at me."
She looked at him. Her eyes were wet.
"Don't force it," he said. "You're too tight."
"I can do it."
"I know you can. But not like this." He kissed her. "Lie back for me."
She hesitated. Then she nodded, and he helped her shift onto her back, her head on his pillow. He knelt between her legs, looking down at her like she was the only thing in the world.
"Spread your legs for me," he said.
She did. Slowly. Her face burned, but she did.
"Good girl," he said.
Her entire body shivered.
He smiled. "You like that?"
"You know I do."
He positioned himself between her thighs, one hand on her hip, the other guiding his cock to her entrance. He pressed against her, gentle, patient, and she felt herself stretch around him.
"Breathe," he said. "Just breathe."
She breathed. He pushed. Slow, so slow, and the pressure was intense, a burning fullness that made her want to push him away and pull him closer all at once.
"You're doing so good," he said. "So good, Yuki. Taking me so well."
She gripped his arms, her nails digging into his biceps. He was barely inside her, just the tip, and she already felt impossibly full.
"More," she whispered.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
He pushed further. She cried out, a sharp, startled sound, and he froze.
"Keep going," she said. "Please."
He kept going. Inch by inch, slow and careful, until he was fully seated inside her. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, her fingers still gripping his arms.
"Okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "Okay."
"You feel—" He closed his eyes. "God, you feel incredible. So tight. So perfect."
She pulled him down and kissed him. He was shaking, she realized, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.
"Move," she said.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He moved. Slow at first, pulling out and pushing back in with such gentleness it made her want to cry. The pain faded, replaced by something else—pressure and friction and heat, building in her belly like a slow-burning fire.
"You're doing so good," he murmured. "So beautiful. So perfect."
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned.
"That's it," he said. "That's my girl."
She came apart beneath him, her back arching, her mouth open in a silent cry. He followed a moment later, burying his face in her neck, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside her.
They lay there afterward, tangled together, their breath slowly steadying. His weight was warm and solid, and she didn't want him to move.
"Hey," he said after a while.
"Hey yourself."
"You okay?"
She thought about it. Her body ached in places she didn't know could ache. Her chest felt raw and open, like she'd cracked something wide and let the light pour in.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay."
He lifted his head and looked at her. His hair was a mess, his face flushed, his eyes soft.
"Good," he said. "Because I think I'm in love with you."
She stared at him.
"What?"
"I said—"
"I heard what you said."
He grinned. "Good."
She smacked his chest. "You can't just—you can't just say that."
"Why not?"
"Because—because—" She sputtered. "Because it's been two days!"
"Two days, three years. What's the difference?"
"Three years?"
He kissed her nose. "I've been gone for you since high school, Yuki. Since the first time I saw you in Kenji's kitchen, drinking tea and looking like you wanted to punch a hole in the wall."
She blinked. "I was angry. Kenji ate my leftovers."
"I know. He told me. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."
She laughed, and then she cried, and then she laughed again. He held her through all of it.
"I love you too," she said finally, into his chest. "I don't know when it happened. But I do."
He kissed the top of her head. "I know."
They lay there until the sky outside his window turned gray with dawn. The frat house was quiet, the party long over, the world still asleep. Yuki closed her eyes and listened to Kyle's heartbeat, steady and sure beneath her ear.
She thought about the sword. About her father's hand across her face. About the way Kyle had climbed through her window and promised to help her get it back.
Tomorrow, she would figure out how. Tomorrow, she would be angry again, would hurt again, would fight again.
But tonight—right now—she was warm. She was safe. She was loved.
She slept.