Chapter 18
Julian's POV
My fingers stilled on the screen.
I noticed the exact moment her breathing changed, deepening into the slow, even cadence of genuine sleep. At first, I assumed she was merely resting her eyes—reasonable enough on a two-hour drive. But then her head started to loll, tipping dangerously toward the window.
I watched as she jerked herself awake, blinking rapidly. Then it happened again. And again.
The third time, her head tilted so far that I knew, with absolute certainty, she was about to crack her skull against the glass.
My hand moved before I could think about it.
My palm caught her forehead just as her head was about to make contact, the touch feather-light but firm enough to stop the momentum. Her skin was cool under my fingers, and the faint scent of her shampoo drifted toward me—something clean and uncomplicated, like rain.
She made a small, unconscious sound and shifted slightly, her head pressing into my palm as if seeking warmth. My breath caught.
My instincts flared hot and protective, demanding that I keep her safe, keep her close. I adjusted my position carefully, allowing her head to settle against my thigh instead of the unyielding glass. Her hair fanned across my leg, soft and fine.
She sighed in her sleep, a soft exhale that sounded almost content, and curled slightly toward me.
I looked down at her, at the shadows under her eyes that even the soft morning light couldn't hide, at the faint furrow between her brows that hadn't entirely smoothed even in sleep. I knew she'd been working herself to the bone.
My jaw tightened.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket, and she stirred slightly but didn't wake. I reached over and silenced it with a single tap, then sent a brief message to Ethan in the front seat.
Reduce speed. Take the smoothest route possible.
Ethan's reply came back almost instantly.
Understood, sir.
The car slowed fractionally, the engine's hum dropping to an even lower register.
An hour passed. Then another.
My right leg had gone completely numb, but I didn't move. Couldn't move. Every time I even thought about shifting position, she would make some small sound in her sleep, and I would freeze, unwilling to risk waking her.
I told myself it was just practicality. She needed rest. The investigation would require her assistance. Letting her sleep was the logical thing to do.
But logic had nothing to do with the way my chest felt tight when she unconsciously pressed closer to me, or the way my fingers itched to smooth the worry line between her brows, or the fierce satisfaction that settled in my bones at the simple fact of her trust.
She trusted me enough to fall asleep.
The car continued down the highway, mile after mile passing in near-silence. I finally managed to focus enough to skim through a few more documents, though I found myself checking on her far more often than I checked the data.
When we finally pulled into the rest stop, I carefully shifted my weight, testing whether I could move without disturbing her. My leg screamed in protest, pins and needles racing down to my toes. I ignored it.
Ethan opened the driver's door as quietly as possible and stepped out. I caught his eye and gestured for him to go ahead. He nodded and disappeared toward the rest stop building.
I reached for my suit jacket and carefully settled it over Nora's sleeping form. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, her breathing still deep and even.
Only then did I ease myself out of the car, biting back a curse as feeling returned to my leg in a rush of uncomfortable sensation. I leaned against the door for a moment, working the stiffness out of my muscles, then pulled out my phone to check messages I'd been ignoring for the past two hours.
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Nora's POV
I woke to the sound of a car door closing.
For a disorienting moment, I had no idea where I was. Then awareness crashed back in a rush: the back seat, his lingering scent, and the fact that I was lying down when I'd definitely started the trip sitting upright.
I jerked upright and found myself alone in the car. A suit jacket was draped over me like a blanket. Through the window, I could see we were parked at a highway rest stop. Julian stood near the front of the car, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear.
Oh God. I'd fallen asleep.
Heat flooded my face as fragmented sense-memories surfaced: warmth, the feeling of something solid beneath my cheek, the vague impression of safety. I looked down at the jacket covering me and wanted to die of embarrassment.
I shoved the door open and stumbled out, my legs stiff from however long I'd been unconscious. The cold February air hit me like a slap, clearing the last of the sleep fog from my brain. I stretched instinctively, and in the middle of a jaw-breaking yawn, I caught Julian turning toward me.
Our eyes met.
I froze mid-yawn, my mouth still half-open like an idiot, and felt my face go from warm to scorching. I snapped my jaw shut and touched my nose self-consciously, as if that would somehow undo the mortification.
Julian's expression remained perfectly neutral, but I could have sworn I saw amusement flicker in his eyes. "Sleep well?" he asked, his tone mild.
"I—yes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." I gestured helplessly at the car, at him, at the universe in general.
"You needed it," he said simply, slipping his phone into his pocket. "There's a restroom inside. We have about an hour left to Blackwood District."
I nodded mutely and made my escape, practically fleeing toward the rest stop building. Inside, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was a disaster, my eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep, and there was a crease on my cheek that could only have come from lying on something for an extended period.
Please let it have been the jacket, I prayed silently.
When I emerged, Julian and Ethan were standing near the car. Ethan held a plastic bag that looked suspiciously full.
"Ms. Grey," Julian said, and held out the bag.
I took it automatically, surprised by the weight. Inside: sandwiches, yogurt, bread, a small bag of chips, bottled water. Enough food for three people, easily.
"Eat in the car," Julian said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It's cold out here."
I wanted to protest, to say I wasn't hungry, to maintain some shred of professional dignity. But my stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, and Julian's mouth curved into something that was almost, but not quite, a smile.
"Thank you," I managed, and climbed back into the car before I could embarrass myself further.
The highway deteriorated the moment we left the interstate.
I'd driven this route countless times. This two-lane country road was a mess of potholes and crumbling asphalt, wild grass creeping in from both shoulders like the earth itself was trying to reclaim what humans had abandoned.
Julian's window slid down with a soft mechanical hum. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of wet earth and decay. I watched his profile as he studied the passing scenery—shuttered diners, rusted farm equipment rotting in overgrown fields. His jaw was set tight.
I knew what he was seeing because I'd seen it a hundred times before. But knowing he was seeing it too made my chest feel tight.
This is reality, I wanted to say. Welcome to the forgotten places.