Chapter 82

Kade didn’t scream when the nightmares came.

He never did.

But his body tensed like it was preparing for war, his breaths grew sharp and uneven, and sometimes—on the worst nights—he whispered names under his breath like prayers or curses. Names I didn’t recognize. Names I didn’t ask about. Not yet.

That night, the fire in our small room had burned low, leaving shadows dancing on the walls. I’d been curled against him, his arm tucked around me, warm and steady.

Until he jerked awake.

I felt it before I heard it—his breath hitching, the sudden tremble in his hand, the cold sweat against my skin.

I sat up instantly.

“Kade,” I whispered.

He didn’t respond.

His eyes were open but distant, fixed on something far beyond the room. His chest heaved, his jaw clenched, and his fists were balled so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Kade,” I said again, louder this time. I reached for his face, cupped it gently, grounding him. “Hey. You’re here. You’re safe.”

His breath caught, and for a moment I wasn’t sure he could hear me at all.

Then his gaze snapped to mine.

And I saw it.

The terror.

The kind that doesn’t come from the dark, but from within.

“I didn’t save them,” he whispered, voice rough and broken. “I let them burn.”

My heart cracked.

“Who?” I asked softly, fingers stroking his jaw.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned forward, pressed his forehead to mine, and closed his eyes like it hurt too much to look at me.

“Before Ronan,” he said eventually. “Back when I was still just a rogue kid trying to survive. There was a girl. Younger than me. She followed me everywhere. Said I was her shadow.”

I stayed silent. I let him speak.

“We were part of a small group. We hid in the ruins near the western border. One night, someone gave us up. I don’t even know who. Ronan’s men came with torches. They set the whole place on fire.”

He swallowed hard.

“I told her to run. But she went back for a blanket. A stupid, ragged thing she slept with. Said it smelled like her mother. And I… I didn’t go in after her.”

I reached for his hand.

He didn’t flinch this time. He held on like I was the only thing keeping him from sinking.

“I stood there and listened to her scream.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“I hear it every time I close my eyes,” he whispered. “Every single night.”

I didn’t speak.

Because there are no words that undo that kind of pain.

There is only presence.

So I leaned in, pressed my forehead to his, and said the only thing that mattered:

“You’re not alone.”

He didn’t cry.

But his breath stuttered.

And when I wrapped my arms around him, he held on like he needed the contact to survive.

Like it was the only fire that wouldn’t burn him.

We sat like that for a long time, tangled together on the floor beside the bed, wrapped in a silence that wasn’t empty.

Eventually, he pulled back enough to look at me.

“I never told anyone that,” he said.

“I know.”

“I thought if I did… it would make it more real.”

“It already is real,” I whispered. “But it doesn’t define you.”

He gave a humorless smile. “It sure feels like it does.”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “You didn’t light the fire, Kade.”

“But I didn’t stop it.”

“You were a scared kid. And now… you’re a man who protects people with every breath.”

His eyes searched mine.

“You still want to build a life with me?” he asked. “Even with all this—this wreckage?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Because I see the man you are through the wreckage.”

He exhaled, like something inside him finally loosened.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I think I don’t deserve this peace. You. This chance.”

“Then I’ll keep reminding you until you believe you do.”

He pulled me back into his arms.

Held me close.

And whispered, “Thank you.”

Not just for staying.

But for seeing.

For not running from his fire.

For helping him carry it.

And maybe, just maybe…

For helping him begin to let it go.