CHAPTER 202

**WINTER**

“I’ll find him,” Zion growled, his voice edged with a promise.

“I’ll figure out who did this. You don’t have to worry.”

He stepped closer, one hand settling on my waist, the other coming up to gently hold the side of my face.

His thumb brushed my cheek as he leaned in, eyes locking with mine.

God, his eyes.

Fierce.

Burning with something I couldn’t name—but it wasn’t just anger. It was warmth.

Steady, grounding warmth, like he was anchoring me in the middle of a storm.

For a moment, I was pulled back to that kiss—the way his lips had pressed against mine, hard and demanding, the way it had ignited something inside me, something raw and impossible to ignore.

I still felt the ghost of it lingering on my skin, the memory of how good his lips had felt, and how everything between us had shifted in that single, burning moment.

And now, standing this close, with his hands steady on me and his gaze so intense, I knew nothing would ever be the same.

“Snowflake,” he murmured softly, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts.

I blinked, startled, breaking free from the memory of the kiss and back into the present.

His gaze was still locked on mine, steady and unwavering.

“We’ll get through this,” he said quietly.

“… What if it’s just some sick joke?” I whispered, voice barely audible, but every word weighed heavily with fear.

His face tightened, the warmth in his eyes darkening, replaced by a storm of fury barely contained.

“A joke?” he sighed.

“You’re still thinking that?”

“Snowflake, whoever’s doing this isn’t just being cruel—they’re calculated. They knew exactly how to twist the knife. That’s not a joke. That’s someone watching. Studying. Waiting.”

I swallowed, but he didn’t let me look away.

“If you’ve got someone this obsessed—someone playing this kind of game—it doesn’t just stop at words,” he went on, voice tightening.

“People like this… they escalate. They get bolder. The threats grow sharper. And eventually, it’s not just messages. It’s real.”

His thumb paused against my skin.

“It becomes physical.”

There’d been moments—more than a few—when I could’ve sworn someone was following me.

That the hair on the back of my neck had lifted, that I’d felt eyes even when no one was there?

A sudden shiver ran through me, and Zion noticed immediately.

“Hey, hey...” His voice softened just a little as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. His hand lingered there, warm and steady.

“I’m not letting it get that far.”

His eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unwavering.

“Not even close. Whoever’s out there, they don’t know who they’re messing with. I’ll stop them before they even think about touching you. You’re not walking through this alone. I’ve got you—always. Every threat, every shadow, I’ll face it head-on for you. No one hurts my Snowflake. Not now. Not ever.”

His fingers were still gently wrapped around my wrist, like he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

His touch wasn’t rough—it never was with me. Just steady. Like he needed that connection as much as I did.

I let out a shaky breath, my heart still tripping over itself from the weight of everything.

He held my gaze a moment longer, then nodded slowly—deliberate and unshakable, like he’d already made the decision for both of us.

“Our friends are here. We need to tell them” he said, voice low but steady, threaded with resolve.

“We face this together. Lay everything out, no secrets. Maybe then we’ll find who’s behind this.”

I hesitated, my eyes drifting toward the hallway where muffled voices drifted from the lounge—Clark’s easy laughter, Claire’s sharp edge cutting through the air.

Normal sounds.

Safe sounds.

A world away from the storm raging inside me.

Zion’s hand slid from my wrist to the small of my back—warm, steady, grounding. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t recoil.

“They care about you,” he whispered, voice thick with something fierce beneath the calm.

“They'd want to protect you too.”

I searched his eyes, catching a fragile flicker of hope beneath the weight of everything.

“And if we come up empty? If this nightmare doesn’t end?”

His grip tightened just enough to anchor me, voice dropping to a hard edge.

“No. No room for doubts. We will find a way. We have to. Because I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

His jaw tightened. “I call Eric.”

“Eric?”

He gave a faint smile, though his eyes were still dark with storm clouds.

“A friend of mine. Tech genius. Quiet, paranoid, kind of a recluse—but if anyone can trace where those messages are coming from, it’s him.”

A flicker of hope sparked in my chest, too small to name, but there all the same.

“You trust him?”

“With my life,” he said.

“And now—yours.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I just nodded.

“Okay,” I breathed.

“Let’s tell them.”

Zion didn’t say another word. He just tucked me a little closer to his side like he was already preparing for battle—only this time, I wouldn’t be standing alone.

......

Zion pushed open the lounge door and stopped dead, blinking at the circus in front of him.

Ro and Claire were locked in an all-out war over the remote, each gripping it with the determination of warriors on a battlefield—and the maturity of toddlers fighting over the last piece of candy.

Claire gave a vicious tug, scowling like a woman scorned. Ro yanked it right back, eyes wide and full of dramatic betrayal.

“Let go,” Claire hissed, yanking the remote toward her chest like it contained state secrets.

“Over my dead body,” Ro shot back, pulling it right back.

“I’m not sitting through an hour of your overpriced, rich-people-crying-in-mansions drama,” Ro scoffed, yanking the remote toward him.

Claire’s eyes narrowed like she was about to throw hands. “It’s a critically acclaimed emotional masterpiece, you uncultured sea slug!”

“It’s emotional constipation with subtitles,” he fired back, scooting further down the couch for leverage.

“Oh, and I suppose Kung Fu Alpacas 3: Hoof of Destiny is a cinematic triumph?”

Ro gasped, clutching his chest. “That film has heart, Claire. And action. And martial arts-trained livestock!”

Claire yanked the remote again. “Your show is literally alpacas doing backflips in headbands. It’s a meme, not a movie!”

He tightened his grip, eyes gleaming. “Your show is just rich people sobbing into their designer silk scarves about not getting invited to the yacht party!”

“They have feelings, Ro!”

“So do my alpacas!”

“Your alpacas have brain damage!”

“They’re warriors!”

“They’re ridiculous!”

“And your show’s a glorified tissue commercial with a soundtrack!”

The remote squeaked under the pressure as they tugged it back and forth like it was the Holy Grail of Entertainment.

Neither was letting go.

Across the room, Harry sat completely oblivious, staring at Ariel like she was the last slice of pizza in the world.

He didn’t notice Claire’s insults, Ro’s sass, or the imminent remote disaster.

Honestly, if the room burst into flames, I wasn’t sure he’d even blink.

Clark was attempting the world’s most pathetic grape juggling act.

Grapes flew up, bounced off his forehead, and landed everywhere except his mouth.

On the fifth try, he finally caught one and grinned like he’d just won an Olympic medal.

Zion sighed, rubbing his temples as he leaned against the wall.

“Yeah, this is exactly the squad I want backing me up.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Remote wars, grape disasters, and Harry worshipping Ariel like she’s the second coming.”

He muttered under his breath, “Maybe keeping these idiots in the loop isn’t the smartest move…”

I couldn’t help it—laughter bubbled up in my throat, light and real. I slipped my hand into Zion’s, fingers curling around his. His grip tightened, grounding, warm.

“These idiots,” I murmured, shaking my head fondly. “No matter what... You love them.”

Zion’s eyes stayed fixed on the scene before us—on the absolute circus of our friends being, well, themselves. Then he glanced down at me, something tender flickering behind all that usual steel.

His lips twitched like he was trying hard not to smile.

“Fuck...Yeah,” he said, voice low. “I fucking do.”
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