My nest felt built, yet I couldn’t help but wonder if it was sturdy enough. I’d eaten, I’d rested, and for the first time in days, I wasn’t merely surviving. I felt... safe. And that realization struck me with an unexpected jolt—comfort came with its own trials, its own quiet terrors, as if the sanctuary I’d found also exposed vulnerabilities I’d long tried to bury.
I set my empty glass aside and stood up, stretching slowly, acutely aware of the four pairs of eyes silently tracking my movement. There was an instinctive watchfulness in their gaze—untamed, even if couched in respect. Yet there was no overt pressure, only a subtle recognition of my internal struggle.
“I’m going to freshen up,” I announced, my voice betraying a conflicted mix of relief and reluctance. “And maybe try to sleep in a bed this time.”
“You sure?” Lucas asked, tilting his head with genuine concern. “We were about to start another movie. Something less murdery, more fun.”
I managed a small smile, though a shadow of hesitation passed over my features. “Tempting, but I think I’ve reached my limit for tonight. I need to check on my nest.”
Gabriel rose as well, his presence drawing me into a private moment. “Do you want someone to walk you back?” he offered softly, his words full of care yet stirring a conflict in me—torn between clinging to this protective cocoon and asserting my own independence.
For a long moment, I hesitated. Did I? But then I forced a steadiness into my tone. “I’m okay. It isn’t that far of a walk to get back to my room…But… thank you. For earlier.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within me—a sound that promised comfort while also hinting at the complexity of the care being offered.
Leaving the living room, I wandered back to the guest room, my heart performing a frantic, absurd dance as doubts and contentment wrestled for control. Once inside, I closed the door and leaned against it, pressing my palms against the wood as if trying to measure whether the barrier between my inner conflicts and the external world was indeed secure.
My nest lay there, untouched and seemingly safe. I crawled into the familiar structure, it wrapping around me in comfort. Yet, as I lay there, inhaling the soft traces of my own scent, I recognized an unsettling truth: for the first time in years, my nest didn’t feel like an impregnable fortress. It felt achingly like home—and that vulnerability, that exposure of my true self, was far scarier than anything Hitchcock could have imagined.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sleepcameeventually,thoughfitfully. My dreams were a jumbled mess of faces and flowers—blood-splattered petals and syringes hidden among stems. I woke several times, heart racing, only to burrow deeper into my nest until exhaustion pulled me under once more.
When morning finally arrived, sunlight streaming through the curtains I'd forgotten to close, I felt oddly hollow—rested but unsettled. The events of the previous evening played through my mind as I showered and dressed in comfortable clothes suitable for flower arranging. Gabriel's arm around me, the solid warmth of his shoulder beneath my cheek, the easy acceptance of the others... it all felt like a dangerous comfort I couldn't afford.
I braided my damp hair into a simple plait and padded barefoot into the kitchen, drawn by the scent of coffee and the muffled sound of voices.
Theo was perched at the island, a tablet in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He looked up when I entered, his eyes scanning me quickly, clinically, but with a flicker of concern that was easy to miss if you didn’t know him.
"Morning," he said, voice clear, telling me he has been awake for awhile.
"Morning," I echoed, crossing to the counter. I poured myself a mug of coffee, the bitter scent already working to shake off the remnants of sleep and uneasy dreams.
"You sleep at all?" Theo asked, setting his tablet down, his full attention now on me.
I sipped from the mug and gave a shrug. "Enough to function. Barely."
He nodded slowly, a frown on his lips, "Dreams?"
"Yeah," I muttered, pulling my mug tighter to my chest. "My brain decided to host a horror movie marathon without my consent. Flowers, blood, and someone whispering things I couldn't understand. Super restful."
Theo tilted his head, as if trying to figure out a puzzle, "Any recurring elements? Patterns?"
"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me before I’ve finished my first cup of coffee?" I asked with amusement, clear in my voice, as I raised an eyebrow at him.
Theo's lips quirked into something almost resembling a smile. "Not psychoanalysis. Professional curiosity."
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" I took another sip of coffee, letting the warmth spread through me. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't think my dreams have any hidden messages. Just garden-variety trauma response."
"There's nothing garden-variety about trauma," Theo replied, his tone softening. "Each person processes differently."
I sighed, setting my mug down on the counter. "Well, my brain decided to process by showing me flowers drowning in blood, so I think I'll stick with caffeine and denial this morning."
"A perfectly valid coping mechanism," Theo said, adjusting his glasses. "In the short term."
Before I could respond, Dakota entered the kitchen, his hair damp from a shower and his expression as guarded as ever. He nodded in my direction, a brief acknowledgment before making a beeline for the coffee pot.
"Morning," I offered, watching as he filled a mug with practiced efficiency.
