I step forward slowly, giving her space to change her mind. When she doesn’t, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in. She’s stiff at first, her hands caught between us, but then—bit by bit—her body softens. She exhales, her forehead pressing lightly against my chest, and something inside me steadies.

This isn’t just about keeping her here anymore.

It’s about us.

I just need to trust her more.

And hide less.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Atlas

Blythe is still in my arms.

Her body is soft against mine, her breath warm where it skims my collarbone. I feel every small shift, every hesitant release of tension. She hasn’t pulled away yet, and I don’t fucking dare move, don’t risk breaking whatever fragile thing is holding us together right now.

This isn’t just about keeping her here.

I need her to want to stay.

Her fingers twitch against my back, just slightly, like she’s testing the pull of this—of me, of us. My grip tightens just enough for her to know I’m here, that I’m not going anywhere. If she lets me, I’ll be the ground beneath her, the thing that stays firm when the world tilts.

After a long moment, she exhales, the sound uneven, catching just before she speaks. “I don’t know how to do this.”

My throat tightens. “Do what?”

She hesitates, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, barely there, like she’s testing the reality of this—of me, maybe even us. “Not be afraid of being with someone else. Trust. Not run.”

Fuck.

She says it like she thinks I have the answer as if I can help her.

Like I know how to do any of those things.

I don’t.

I learned at a young age how to build walls so high no one bothers to climb them. How to keep people at a distance until they stop trying. How to pretend that solitude is a choice, not a habit I never learned to break.

But this? Letting her in—letting myself want to be let in—feels like stepping off the edge of something big. A huge cliff where I can just die, and I’m unsure if I’ll crash or if she’ll be there, catching me before I fall too far.

I’m afraid, too.

Afraid of wanting more than what I know how to hold.

Afraid of needing her.

Afraid of the possibility that she’ll leave anyway.

And yet . . . I want her to stay.

I want her to choose me.

The contradiction burns through me, raw like white fire that could kill us both, but I don’t let go.

I close my eyes for a second, memorizing the way she feels against me, how right it is even when nothing else is. “We can figure it out together.”