CHAPTER 230
**ZION**
Martin and Ruiz had left hours ago, promising they’d be in touch if anything turned up.
The house felt too quiet now. Like the tension in the air had thickened and settled, waiting for the next blow.
.....
The footage looped again.
Grainy. Silent. Useless.
I exhaled through my nose, thumb poised above the trackpad, rewinding the angle for what had to be the fiftieth damn time. Still nothing.
No movement.
No shadow.
No figure.
The bastard knew exactly where the cameras were.
He’d chosen an angle we couldn’t see.
Smug.
Calculated.
I could feel the pressure building behind my eyes, a dull throb that hadn’t left since we first found the note. Every time I watched this, every second of nothing on that screen, it crawled under my skin.
He was watching her.
Had been watching her.
And I was here. Sitting on this useless couch. Waiting for something I should’ve prevented.
The cameras showed nothing.
Not a single frame with movement, a shadow, or a hint of him. Like he knew every angle better than we did — slipping through blind spots we didn’t even realise existed.
That silence on the screen? It was worse than a threat. It was a slap in the face.
Frustration burned low in my chest, thick and heavy. We were chasing ghosts while he watched, waited, and laughed behind the scenes.
“You sure this is all we’ve got?” Harry muttered, leaning over my shoulder, his breath warm but tense.
“Yeah,” I said, jaw tight. “I’ve scrubbed every angle.”
Harry swore under his breath, straightening.
“He’s a ghost. No prints. No image. No car. Who the hell is this guy?”
“Not a ghost,” I said, flat.
“Just be careful. Too careful.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and paced a little, barefoot across the worn carpet.
“Means he’s been watching. Studying the house, learning the blind spots. This ain’t random.”
“No,” I agreed. My voice felt like it was made of gravel.
“It’s not.”
The laptop ticked to another blank segment. My stomach twisted.
I wanted to punch a hole through the wall.
Clark’s voice cut through the silence.
“We can go through the footage, Z... You want to check in on her? She was pretty shaken after that call.”
I shook my head, eyes locked on the laptop screen, but my mind wasn’t here. “She’s asleep.”
But I couldn’t rest.
Not really.
I clenched my jaw so hard it ached. I wanted nothing more than to be by her side—hold her tight, breathe in the small steady rise and fall of her chest, remind myself she was still here. Keep her safe from the darkness that’d crept inside our lives.
But I couldn’t fucking be with her.
Every second I spent sitting here, watching shadows dance on a useless screen, was another second wasted—another moment that bastard was still out there, laughing, watching, waiting to strike again
I had to catch him.
I had to find him.
I wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t stop, until he was done—until he couldn’t hurt her or anyone else ever again.
Ro leaned in, arms crossed, eyes dark.
“He didn’t even give a fucking shit that the cops heard his words. Didn’t care that he was sending a message. That’s fucked up. Shows how twisted he really is.”
My brain was crawling with the what-ifs, the if-I’d-justs.
If I’d just checked the perimeter sooner.
If I’d just convinced her to let me install that extra motion light.
If I’d just—
“Zion!”
Her scream cut through the house like a blade.
For half a second, my blood ran cold. And then I moved.
The laptop hit the floor, cords tangling, screen bouncing once on the carpet.
Didn’t care.
I was already sprinting down the hallway, adrenaline crashing through my system like a freight train.
The sound of her voice—raw, panicked—shoved every other thought from my head.
Winter.
I didn’t knock.
I slammed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall.
She was sitting upright, chest heaving, eyes wild. The blankets tangled around her legs, hair clinging damp to her forehead.
“I’m all right!” she said quickly, too quickly.
“ I-I’m okay, I just… it was a dream.”
I didn’t move at first. I stood frozen in the doorway, breath shallow like I’d just run miles.
My hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles white. My eyes scanned the room—no broken windows, no shadows moving.
Just her.
Shaking.
Harry skidded to a stop behind me, breath ragged.
“Christ,” he muttered, running a hand down his face.
“Thought we were under attack.”
My feet carried me toward her before my mind caught up.
I dropped down beside her on the bed, careful at first, but then I reached out and grabbed her trembling hands.
I pulled her close without asking—wrapped my arms tight around her like I could squeeze the fear right out of her.
Her scent—vanilla cream—filled my nostrils.
She pressed into me, her body trembling, and I held her tighter, my chest against hers, steadying us both.
“You sure?” I asked, voice low but rougher than I meant.
She nodded, but I could see it in her shaking shoulders and clenched fists—she wasn’t telling the truth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It was stupid. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t,” I cut her off sharply, tightening my hold.
“Don’t apologise for being scared.”
She looked up at me like she didn’t know what to say.
“It felt so real,” she finally whispered.
I nodded. It was real—in a way that made my blood boil.
He was inside her head now. That thought made me grip her tighter.
“I’ll check the perimeter again,” Harry said quietly, stepping back.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stayed.
My hand slid from hers to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her damp hair, pulling her closer. I held her like I was anchoring us both in the storm.
She didn’t pull away.
“I’ve got you,” I said, voice low and steady.
“No matter what… I’m here.”
She didn’t answer.
But she leaned closer.
And for now… that was enough.
She let go of the comforter. It slipped from her fingers and slid down to pool at her waist. My breath caught.
She was wearing a thin, white T-shirt.
No bra.
When had she taken that off?
Her nipples were tight, pressing through the fabric like a punch to my chest.
Shit.
I dragged my eyes up to her face like they were made of lead.
Not the time, not the fucking time.
She’s probably cold, idiot. Not turned on.
Not even close.
But it still hit me in the gut—how beautiful she was in her vulnerability, how raw and real and unguarded she looked in that moment.
I cleared my throat.
My voice came out low, quieter than I meant.
“You screamed for me.”
Her eyes widened instantly.
“Did I?” she said, trying way too hard to sound casual.
Her gaze darted away like she could hide behind it.
I leaned slightly forward, just enough to make her glance back up—and sure enough, she did. Right into my eyes.
A slow grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.
I didn’t let it stretch all the way—my heart was still racing like hell—but damn, I needed her to smile.
Just a little.
“Must’ve been a hell of a dream,” I murmured, voice low.
“What was I doing to you… to make you scream my name like that?”
Her head snapped back toward me, cheeks going that pretty flushed pink I’d always loved seeing on her.
Her mouth opened, then closed again—completely thrown.
“I—what? No! That’s not what I—” She groaned and buried her face in her hands.
“I wasn’t dreaming about that.”
“Mm-hmm.” I couldn’t help it—my smirk deepened.
“Sure you weren’t.”
God.
She looked so annoyed with herself.
So damn embarrassed.
That made me smile for real, just a little.
I leaned in a little closer, just enough to see the flicker in her eyes.
“Tell me what I was doing in that dream,” I murmured, voice low and teasing. “And I’ll make it come true.”
Her breath caught.
I saw it—the way her chest rose, how her lashes fluttered. She tried to play it off, rolling her eyes like I hadn’t just made her heart stutter.
She scoffed, turned her face away like she could hide the pink climbing up her neck.
“I was scared,” she mumbled.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I know.” I didn’t tease her for that. I couldn’t.
Because I did know.
And no part of me wanted to make light of her fear.
But I still got that smile.
Small. Tired. Brave.
And it felt like a fucking victory.
“Just saying… It’s good to know I’m the guy your subconscious calls when things go sideways.”
She let out a soft, breathy laugh—quiet and hesitant, but it pulled at something deep inside me.
That small sound eased the tight knot in my chest just a little, like a fragile promise that maybe, somehow, we’d be okay.
I didn’t want to let go—not yet. My hand stayed warm against the curve of her back, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles beneath the fabric of her shirt.
I could feel the erratic thump of her heart, wild and fast like mine, both of us tangled in the same restless fear.
Her breath hitched, and she leaned a little closer, the heat of her body a quiet anchor against my side.
I lowered my voice until it was barely more than a whisper.
“Try to sleep, Snowflake. I’m right here.”
But I stayed where I was, unwilling to break the fragile calm between us. Because in this moment, holding her close, nothing else mattered.
For now, that was enough.
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