Sleep didn't feel like surrender. It felt like being ambushed. I hadn't chosen it. I never do. But after hours of lying there with Annie in my arms, her heartbeat pressed steady against mine, the silence of her body free from nightmares… I let my eyes close. Just for a moment.
And then—
The scream. It was soundless, but it ripped through Arbor like thunder, jolting me awake so hard my heart nearly cracked my ribs.
"Annie." Her name tore out of me as I grabbed for her wrists. She was thrashing, sobbing soundlessly, mouth open wide in a scream that refused to give her sound. Arms flailing. Fighting shadows only she could see.
"Annie, wake up! Wake up!" My voice broke against her silence.
She didn't. Not right away. Her eyes stayed shut tight, her breath hitching in sharp, panicked bursts, her body jerking against my hold. She tried to speak. I could see it, but no sound came. Just the ghost of words crushed into wheezing silence. "Annie, it's me," I whispered, desperate. "It's me, love. I've got you. I've got you."
All at once, she froze. Her inhale was violent, sharp, tearing into the room as her eyes flew open. Pupils blown wide. Skin cold and slick with sweat. She shook her head. Trembling hands. Haunted eyes. No words. Gods. No words. I could see the glow from all of her activated runes. I pulled her straight into my lap, wrapped myself around her like armor, rocking her while murmuring into her hair. "You're safe. You're safe, my Heart. You're here."
But her gaze wasn't here. It flickered somewhere far, far away. Somewhere Aerion-shaped. Somewhere priest-shaped. Somewhere I couldn't go. It gutted me. Because maybe this was what it looked like. Her strength finally catching up to her. All the hurt, all the horror, all the cost she'd carried without ever setting it down. I wanted to fight it. Wanted to rip it out of her head and burn it until nothing was left. But this wasn't a battle I could win.
So I kissed her temple. Whispered a new name against her skin. "My Strong Valkyrie."
Held her tighter, even while she stared through me at ghosts I couldn't see. I rose quietly, pulled on the nearest shirt, padded barefoot through Arbor's halls to the kitchen. She needed something strong. Sweet. Something that tasted like choosing life again. Two shots of espresso, cream, vanilla, caramel, and enough sugar to scandalize Ahyona herself. Poured it over ice. Stirred it. Watched condensation bead down the glass like proof it was alive.
When I returned, she was sitting up in bed, pale and tired, but no longer trembling. I handed her the drink. She took it, nodded once, sipped and immediately made a face like I'd poisoned her. I smirked. "Too sweet?"
She shook her head, arched a brow, and signed: I love you. Her fingers folded into a perfect little heart.
My smirk dissolved. Something softer, raw, took its place. I kissed her knuckles. "Even when you can't say it," I whispered, "I hear it."
We lay back down, quiet. The iced coffee balanced between us like a peace offering. No noise. Just her fingers brushing mine, her leg tangling with mine, the rhythm of us existing anyway. Eventually I propped my chin on her shoulder, announced with solemn gravitas, "I have decided we are going on a wine sampling tour."
She blinked. "In the mortal realm," I clarified. "Obviously. Because if I let you divine alcohol in your condition, you'd fall into a vat of ambrosia and I'd have to fish you out."
She snorted, silently, but gloriously. "With cheese platters," I added. "And crostinis. And those little olive imposters that taste like betrayal."
Before she could sign a protest, I snapped my fingers. There we were, clad in the most offensively mortal tourist outfits imaginable. She wore a massive floppy sun hat with a pink ribbon, sunglasses that could block out god light, a sundress patterned with grapes, and sandals jingling with wine charms. I, naturally, looked like a walking crime against fashion: a "Grape Expectations" shirt with a fake wine stain over the heart, tan cargo shorts, and socks-with-sandals so vile even chaos blushed.
She blinked at our reflection. Signed one word: Tragic.
I bowed. "Exactly the vibe I was going for."
A shimmer later, we stood on the cobbled path of a vineyard bathed in golden afternoon light. Rows of vines stretched out under a sun that made her hat flap like it was trying to take flight. I led her to the tasting room with all the poise of a man who absolutely did not belong there. "Ah yes," I said as the sommelier poured, swirling my glass with divine flair. "One can really taste the existential dread in this one. Mmm. Peach pits and poor decisions."
The sommelier blinked. "It's… citrus forward."
"Exactly what I said."
We made our way from table to table, her arm hooked through mine, sampling whites, rosés, reds, while I provided increasingly dramatic commentary.
"This one tastes like betrayal in a velvet glove."
"That's a wine that pays taxes."
"This one? Grapes and lies. No, No, the Grapes of Wrath."
Annie never spoke. She didn't need to. Her laughter shook her shoulders, silent but radiant, her eyes crinkled above her sunglasses. Every so often she leaned her head on my shoulder, her hand warm in mine. Every time, I stole a kiss from beneath the brim of her absurd hat. Whispering into her skin things only she would ever hear.