He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied me for a moment, close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek. Then, quietly, he said, “Not the kind you’re afraid of.”

My lips parted slightly. “What kind are out there?”

“The kind you don’t need to imagine.” His face hardened. “The kind you can see in plain sight.”

A knot formed in my stomach.

I didn’t ask him to explain.

I didn’t need him to. I knew what he was talking about.

The monster he grew up with. The monster who had left bruises on his skin and worse ones on his soul. The monster who would never hurt him again, now locked away behind bars where he belonged, left to rot for the rest of his days.

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me like a thick fog, pressing down on my ribs and making it hard to breathe. I hated that Blake had to carry something so heavy. Hated that there were things in his past that I would never fully understand, no matter how much I wanted to.

Without a word, I grabbed his hand and pulled him up.

He let out a surprised grunt but didn’t resist as I led him out of the tent and into the dark. I wanted to do something, anything, to pull him out of his own thoughts.

He gave me a confused look, his hand warm in mine, but he stayed silent as I dragged him through the trees, past the dying embers of the campfire, and toward the small wooden cabin where Mom and Dad were sleeping.

The door creaked softly as I pushed it open, the warmth of the small space wrapping around us instantly. Mom and Dad were in the back room, leaving us alone in the kitchenette. I motioned for him to sit, then rummaged through the cabinets.

Blake didn’t ask what I was doing. He just stood by the small couch, watching me with mild curiosity as I pulled out a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread.

There was no book here for him, no pages to get lost in. With nothing else to do, he glanced around the cabin, his fingers twitching at his sides. Eventually, he reached for the TV remote and turned on the tiny television in the corner of the room, keeping the volume so low it was barely audible.

I paused mid-spread. A grainy nature documentary flickered to life, illuminating his face and highlighting the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought. The screen flickered as a lioness moved through the grass, her muscles rippling beneath golden fur.

By the time I finished making the sandwich, Blake was completely still, his attention locked onto the screen.

He didn’t even glance at the plate as I set it in front of him.