His fingers trail down to my neck, settling there like he’s trying to calm me with touch alone. "You’re safe. As long as I’m here, you’re safe."

I want to believe him. I do.

There’s a voice inside me screaming that something terrible is about to happen, even if I have no proof. Growing up, I was moved from house to house, family to family until I ended up here. My intuition is rarely wrong, even now that my guard has come down a bit.

Riven’s fingers move slowly against my side, dragging over the fabric of my sweater like he’s soothing himself. It’s soft. A barely there, forbidden touch. But I feel every brush like a brand.

"You're too cold," he murmurs.

"You're warm enough for both of us."

He huffs a breath, amused but tense. His mouth dips toward me, and I swear…I freaking swear…he almost kisses me.

But he doesn’t.

He lingers.

Then, slowly, his hand moves to brush my hair aside. He leans down further and presses his face into the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply like he needs me to survive. Like he can only calm whatever is raging inside of him by breathing me in. His nose grazes my skin, and his lips are so close, but he doesn’t cross the line.

I freeze, not because I’m scared, but because I want to lean into it. To pull him closer. To stay here with him forever.

Riven is completely still, lingering like he's trying to memorize the way I smell. His arms tighten once more, and then one hand slowly slides down my arm to my wrist.

His fingers brush over the leather bracelet I’ve worn since the summer. It’s just a simple thing I made by hand with little knots and two tiny turquoise beads tucked into the braid.

He rubs his thumb over it, but he doesn’t say anything. When Riven starts to pull away, I stop him and quickly unhook the bracelet. I shove it into the front pocket of his jeans before he can stop me or argue.

“Lakynn—”

“Just take it,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just in case.”

His brows furrow, and for a second, I think he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. He just nods once, jaw tight, and cups my face like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

We sit like that for the longest while, and I burrow in his arms as I think about the first time we held each other like this.

Two years ago, Riven came home from a hunting trip with our father and uncle. His face was pale, his hands shaking, dried blood smeared across his knuckles and cheek. I was on the porch when he walked up, his boots dragging, eyes blank. He wasn’t being cold to me. He just seemed… broken.