Chapter 4: Goodbyes and Guardians

My sobs are quiet, but I know he hears them. There’s no hiding in the dark—not from him. I feel exposed.

By the faint moonlight, Mason opens his eyes. The shadows shift across his face.

His eyes catch the light, sharp and wary. For a moment, he just watches me, silent as a shadow. I freeze, unsure what to do next.

Sure enough, he sees a pair of red, puffy eyes, swollen from crying. I wipe at my cheeks, embarrassed.

He doesn’t say anything, just studies me. I can feel his gaze, heavy and unblinking. My face burns. I look away.

The owner of those eyes, still sniffling, starts to unbutton his shirt. My hands fumble with the buttons, the ointment balanced on my knee.

I don’t know what I’m doing—just that I need to help, somehow. My fingers shake so much I can barely manage.

Then, startled, sits down hard on the floor. The creak of the old boards echoes in the quiet.

I freeze, unsure what to do. My heart is racing. I look at him, then at the ointment, then back at him. I swallow hard.

I hadn’t expected Mason to suddenly open his eyes. Now I’m too scared to move, but the tears just keep coming. My throat is tight.

His gaze is steady, unreadable. I want to say something, but the words stick in my throat. I feel so small.

Mason’s gaze lingers on his opened shirt. He vaguely smells the sharp scent of wound ointment. The air feels thick.

There’s a pause, the air thick with unspoken questions. He glances at the tube in my hand, then back at my face. My cheeks burn.

“Miss.” His voice is quiet, but there’s a warning in it. I flinch, the ointment slipping from my grasp. My heart skips a beat.

He grabs my wrist. His grip is strong, almost too tight. My skin tingles where he touches me, the heat of his palm startling.

His palm is burning hot, almost scalding my skin. I gasp, the sensation jolting me out of my daze. My breath catches, and I look up at him, eyes wide. My heart pounds.

I can only look at Mason through tear-filled eyes. The world blurs, his face shifting in and out of focus.

I want to say something, but all I can do is cry. I feel pathetic, but I can’t stop.

Feeling the rough pads of his fingers wipe my tears away, Mason pulls me closer. His touch is unexpectedly gentle.

He brushes my tears aside, his hand lingering on my cheek. I feel small and breakable. I lean into his touch, just a little.

My nose bumps into his hard chest. The contact is jarring, but oddly comforting.

His heartbeat is steady, a low thrum beneath my ear. I close my eyes, just for a second.

Mason’s presence is overwhelming. He’s so close, I can smell the faint trace of sweat and blood.

His arms are strong, but he doesn’t hurt me. I don’t know what to do. My heart races.

“You came to mess with me.” His words are soft, almost teasing, but there’s an edge to them. My breath hitches.

I shake my head, unable to speak. My hands tremble in my lap.

His voice is icy cold. I don’t dare say a word, just keep crying. My shoulders shake.

I clamp my mouth shut, afraid to make things worse. The tears keep coming, hot and silent. My throat aches.

Eventually, he gets fiercer and fiercer, and I can’t help but sob. His grip tightens, his voice rising.