Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“Because now,” he murmurs, “you’re not alone.”
And for the first time since this started, that thought doesn’t terrify me.
It burns.
Chapter 8
Ethan
She’s loud, loud enough that anyone watching from the tree line would pick her up in seconds. I stop mid-step and lift my hand, but she walks straight into me before she notices, her body colliding with mine, soft and warm and completely unprepared, her breath punching out in a sharp exhale as her hands come up to brace against my chest.
“Jesus,” she snaps, looking up at me with irritation already sparking in her eyes. “You could warn me.”
“You could pay attention.”
Her gaze flashes, her chin tipping up as she pushes off me, creating space that doesn’t quite stick. “I am paying attention.”
“No,” I say, turning fully toward her and holding her there with my gaze. “You’re reacting. That’s different.”
Her arms cross immediately, defensive and stubborn. “And what, you’re just naturally silent like some kind of mountain ninja?”
I step closer, closing the distance just enough that she has to tilt her head back again to keep eye contact, and I let the moment sit before I answer. “Watch.”
I move again, slower this time, deliberate in a way that forces her to focus. Each step is intentional, heel to toe, my weight shifting carefully so nothing snaps, nothing shifts, nothing gives me away. The forest stays quiet around me, untouched.
I glance back at her. “Your turn.”
She exhales, clearly annoyed, but steps forward anyway, trying to mirror what I just did. Her first step lands, and the instant her boot hits the ground a branch snaps beneath it, the sound sharp in the stillness.
I don’t say anything. I just watch.
She freezes, her eyes flicking up to mine.
“Don’t,” I say quietly.
“Don’t what?” she asks, already bracing.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for approval.”
Her jaw tightens. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
I step closer again, closing the space until I can reach her, until I can feel the shift in her breathing even before I touch her. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and I don’t miss it.
“Relax your stance,” I tell her.
“I am relaxed.”
“No, you’re not.”
She glares. “I’m standing.”
“Wrong.”
I reach for her, pausing for just half a second before I follow through, my hands settling on her hips. My grip is firm enough to guide her, not enough to trap her, but the contact still pulls a reaction from her, her breath catching just slightly.
There it is.
“Shift your weight,” I murmur.
Her hands hover uncertainly at her sides, like she doesn’t know what to do with them. “Ethan—”
“Focus,” I cut in, adjusting her stance, angling her body slightly, grounding her where she needs to be.
She responds instinctively, her balance shifting under my hands.
Good.
“Feel that?” I ask.
She nods once, tight and controlled. “Yeah.”
“Less pressure on your front foot,” I continue, keeping my voice low. “You’re pushing into the ground like you’re about to run.”
“I might need to.”
“Not like this.”
I slide one hand lower, guiding her leg back just enough to correct her balance, and her breath stutters again, sharper this time.
“You hesitate like that,” I say, my voice dropping further, “you lose.”
Her head tilts slightly, her eyes lifting to meet mine. “You always this intense?”
I hold her gaze. “Only when it matters.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and charged in a way that has nothing to do with the forest around us. She swallows, then looks forward again, trying to regain control.
“And this matters?” she asks.
My grip tightens just slightly before I can stop it. “You do.”
The words land between us before I can pull them back, honest in a way I didn’t plan for.
She stills.
Then she mutters, quieter now, “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t mean them.”
I lean in closer, just enough that my breath brushes near her ear, my mouth close to her hair without quite touching. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Her breath hitches again.
“Then maybe you should start,” she murmurs.
I almost smile, but I don’t let it show. “Move.”
I step back, releasing her, and the loss of contact hits harder than it should. She steps forward again, more careful this time, her movements quieter, more controlled.
Better.
“Again,” I say.
She goes again, slower now, more aware. Step. Pause. Shift. No snap. No crunch.
I nod once. “Better.”
She glances back over her shoulder, a hint of challenge in her expression. “You going to compliment me now or keep pretending you’re not impressed?”
“I don’t hand out compliments for basic survival.”
Her mouth curves slightly. “So you are impressed.”
I step forward again, closing the space she just created. “You’re improving.”
“Wow,” she deadpans. “High praise.”
“You want praise?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes flick up to mine. “Maybe.”
I lean in, close enough that the space between us disappears again. “You earn it.”
Her lips part slightly before she catches herself, clearing her throat and stepping back like she needs the distance.
Good.
Because if she doesn’t, I’m not sure I’d stop at just teaching her how to walk.