I glance toward the kitchen, where Ezra moves easily around the space. He’s chopping vegetables, his back to us, the sight of him so fucking domestic it’s honestly surreal. His sleeves are rolled up, the lean muscles of his forearms flexing as he works, and if we were alone, I’d likely be climbing him like a tree right about now.
Quinn follows my gaze and smirks. “He’s really leaning into this whole ‘househusband’ thing, huh?”
I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my lips. “He likes to stay busy.”
Busy to keep his mind occupied while he works on healing and building a new life, but also, I think he enjoys all the normal, boring things he’s missed out on. He throws himself into teaching—forensic psychology is truly his passion, which feels ironic, given his past, but he’s good at it. His students like him, even if they’re a little intimidated.
Outside of work, he’s figuring out what life looks like without the Assembly dictating his every move. He’s taken up running, cooks more than he ever used to, and has somehow developed an interest in fixing up old watches, of all things. It’s strange, watching someone so capable of destruction find solace in something as delicate as tiny, intricate gears.
And even though the Assembly still exists—something that big doesn’t just disappear overnight—he’s done his best to reorder things, to strip away its worst elements and create something that no longer operates in the shadows. He’ll never be free of it completely, but maybe, just maybe, he can reshape it into something that doesn’t destroy everything it touches.
“Busy or obsessed with making sure you’re eating enough?” she quips, nudging my shoulder.
“Both,” I admit, shaking my head. “I think he’s convinced I’m going to fall apart if he stops hovering for five seconds.”
At one point, that may have been true. There was a time when I felt like I was just playing a role—doing what was expected, shaping myself into what I thought I had to be to survive. But now? My present situation, the vision I have for my future? That’s all I need to hold me together.
I’m not just reacting to the chaos anymore; I’m choosing my own path. I don’t know exactly what the future looks like, but I know it’s mine. I’m not bound by expectations, not shackled by the burden of the past.
I feel free. And that’s enough.
Quinn leans back against the couch, her smile softening. “Can you blame him?”
She has no idea, but what she does know is the Kruz I have always been to her—a mess, terrified of what waits around every corner, a ball of fucking anxiety.
She assumes that’s the Kruz that Ezra has gotten to know, but what she doesn’t know is that version of her best friend is long dead, and that he has a whole other list of reasons to fret over me.
Her words hang in the air for a moment, and I glance down at my hands, twisting them in my lap. “No,” I say quietly. “I can’t.”
She doesn’t push me, doesn’t ask for more. That’s the thing about Quinn—she always knows when to let silence do the talking, and I have always loved her for that.
The smell of something savory wafts into the room, and Ezra steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He glances between the two of us, his expression unreadable for a moment before his lips twitch into a small, so-very-him smile, reluctant like he doesn’t really know how to allow himself to be happy and feel safe, but he’s trying.
“Lunch is almost ready,” he says, his voice calm but firm, like he’s already decided we’re going to eat, whether we like it or not. I guess some parts of him will never change, and I’m honestly kind of glad the demanding part of him is what stuck around.
He can boss me aroundanyday of the week.
Quinn bursts into laughter. “Look at you, all domestic and bossy. I’m impressed.”
She’s seen the sides of him he’s always shown to the rest of the world, and even those parts stand in stark contrast to the person he is when he is with me.
I think Quinn, Jack, and everyone else just assume I have softened him.
And I probably have… but he’s softer now for a whole slew of other reasons.
The hold of the Assembly is finally off his shoulders—not entirely gone, because something like that never truly vanishes, but it’s no longer bearing down on him like it once did. He’s no longer constantly looking over his shoulder, calculating every move like a man expecting a knife in the back.
And then there was the island. That time changed something in him. It stripped everything down to the rawest version of ourselves, forced us to confront things we might’ve otherwise ignored. He let himself be vulnerable there, maybe for the first time in his life. He let me see him.
But more than anything, I think he’s softer because, finally, he has the space to be. There’s no looming threat, no obligation pulling him back into the darkness. He’s figuring out what it means to just be Ezra—not a pawn in someone else’s game, not a man bound by secrets and survival. Just himself.
Justmine.
Ezra arches an eyebrow at her. “Someone has to keep you two alive. If not for my amazing culinary skills, I am fairly certain that you’d happily gorge yourselves on mimosas, eat a couple of grapes and a cheese slice, and call it brunch.”
I snort, shaking my head as he disappears back into the kitchen. “He’s not wrong.”
Quinn leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”
