A Night of Vulnerability

The cabin was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Shadows danced along the wooden walls, flickering in the patterns of the thoughts racing through Emily's mind. The weight of the last twenty-four hours still pressed against her chest: Ethan's past, the man watching them, the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Yet here, in this moment, all she could focus on was him.

Ethan slumped into the chair across from her. His head was leaned back against the rest, his eyes closed. He slowly looked pale-tired, tired to the very center of a person's bones, and still, the tension was still there, every muscle in his body coiled tight for the fight that never happened.

Emily wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, hesitated, and then spoke, "Ethan?"

He opened his eyes instantly, sharp as ever, and locked onto hers. "Yeah?

"Do you ever stop?" she asked softly.

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

She gestured toward him, toward the constant vigilance, the weight he carried. "Being on guard. Always looking over your shoulder. Do you ever just… breathe?"

He let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. "Not in a long time."

Her heart clenched. "Do you even remember what it's like?"

His expression softened as he looked at her, the side of his mouth twitching toward amusement, though there was little humor in it. "Perhaps once. Long ago."

Emily shifted on the couch, propping her chin on her knees. "Tell me about it."

Ethan let out a breath and pushed his hand through his hair. "You don't want to hear about that."

She angled her head. "I do.

They stayed silent for what felt like forever before he opened his mouth and spoke. "I grew up in a small town in Montana. Not much to it—just long stretches of land, quiet streets, and the kind of place where everyone knew your name. My dad was in the army, so he was gone most of the time. My mom… she was the strong one. Held things together, made sure I didn't fall apart." His lips pressed into a thin line. "She died when I was eighteen."

Emily's chest ached. "Ethan…"

He shook his head, brushing off her sympathy. "It was cancer. Quick. By the time they found it, there wasn't much to do."

Her fingers curled into the blanket. "I'm sorry."

Ethan stared at the fire, his expression unreadable. "She used to sit on the porch with me at night. We'd talk about everything. Dreams, the future, the things that scared me. She always told me that the only way to face fear was to look it in the eye."

Emily swallowed, hearing the unspoken words beneath his own. "And did you?"

His lips curled up slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I saw it, all right. And then I ran right into it."

Silence fell between them once more, this time heavier. After a moment, he turned his attention to her. "What about you? What was your childhood like?"

Emily hesitated before answering. "Not quite as idyllic."

Ethan's brows drew together, his focus entirely on her now. "Tell me.

She took a slow breath, collecting her thoughts. "My father left when I was five. I barely remember him, just flashes of someone who wasn't there long enough to leave a lasting impression. My mother… she tried, but she was always working, always exhausted. I spent a lot of time alone."

Ethan's eyes grew dark. "That must have been tough.

She shrugged, though the old ache remained. "It was lonely. But I learned to take care of myself. I had to." She hesitated, then added, "That's probably why I became a lawyer. I wanted to be the person who fought for the ones left behind."

A flicker of understanding crossed Ethan's face. "You fight for people because no one fought for you."

Emily looked away, suddenly feeling exposed. "Something like that."

He said nothing immediately, but his voice was softer now. "You are stronger than you believe."

She chuckled slightly, and a tinge of sadness edged through her laughter. "Not always."

Ethan leaned forward now, placing his elbows on his knees. "Strength is not about not ever breaking. It's getting up when you break.

She looked at him and in that flash, forgot the danger and the fear and the uncertainty. It was just the two of them, against the world with all its hideous perils, who had spent their lives running away from their past, comforted now in the quiet honesty of the moment.

Her voice was little over a whisper. "You regret it?"

His brows furrowed. "Regret what?"

"Leaving the military. Walking away."

Ethan let out a slow breath. "Every day. And not at all."

She frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

His gaze turned inward, as if looking at ghosts only he could see. "I regret the things I did. The choices I made. But walking away… it was the only way to keep what was left of my soul.

Emily reached across the space between them, hesitated only briefly, and then reached out to cover his hand. His fingers twitched, but he didn't pull away.

"You're not the man you used to be, Ethan," she said softly. "You're not a monster."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Sometimes, I don't know the difference."

She squeezed his hand. "I do."

A silence fell between them, different from the ones before. This one felt… safe. Like something fragile but real had formed in the space between them.

Ethan shifted, his fingers curling around hers. "You should get some rest."

Emily nodded, but neither of them moved.

After a long pause, she finally whispered, "Stay?"

Ethan's eyes searched hers, something unreadable passing through them. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Yeah. I'll stay."

They didn't say anything else. Neededn't. For in that quiet, in the warmth of the fire and the hush of the night, they understood each other in a way words could never capture.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt alone.