The door creaked open just past midnight. Kael kicked it shut with the heel of his boot, dropping his gym bag on the floor. His shirt was half-torn, taped hands still sticky, and the metallic tang of blood clung to him.

“Kael?” Her voice came sharp from the hallway, the sound of bare feet against wood rushing closer.

Fuck. He froze. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this. Not tonight.

She stopped dead when her eyes landed on him—on the red smeared across his jaw, dripping down his neck, staining the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh my God—” Her hands flew up to her mouth. “Kael, you’re hurt—”

“I’m not.” His voice came low, gravel scraped raw from hours of sparring. “It’s not mine.”

Her chest heaved, panic carved into every line of her face. She reached for him anyway, trembling fingers brushing over his stomach as if she expected to find an open wound.

Jesus. That look in her eyes. Like he was dying right in front of her.

“Baby, hey—” He caught her wrist, holding her still. “I said it’s not mine.”

“But there’s blood everywhere!” Her voice cracked. “You can’t just— you come home like this, and— Kael, you scared the shit out of me!”

He clenched his jaw, fighting down the growl boiling up his throat. She didn’t get it. She didn’t get that in his world, this was fucking normal. A little blood. A couple broken noses. Surviving.

But fuck… seeing her shaking like that—like she actually cared if he bled out on the floor—hit him harder than any punch tonight.

He dragged a hand down his face, smearing the blood worse. “You think I don’t know what it looks like? You think I don’t walk through the door and hear my mom’s voice in your mouth, panicking every time I come home cut the fuck up?”

She blinked at him, hurt flashing in her eyes.

Shit. Too much.

He stepped closer, backing her against the wall. Not gentle. He couldn’t do gentle when his chest felt like it was splitting open. “Look at me.” His forehead pressed to hers, his breath still hot from the gym. “I’m fine. It’s not mine. Do you understand?”

“I don’t care if it’s yours or not!” she shot back, voice breaking. “It scares me anyway. Every time you leave, I don’t know if you’ll—” Her throat closed on the words.

Fuck. That was it. The crack in the armor.

Kael’s hand slid up, cupping her jaw, thumb dragging across her lip still trembling. His voice dropped, softer but no less raw. “Don’t say it. Don’t even put that shit in the air.”

Her eyes shone wet, angry and terrified all at once. And Kael—hard, bloody, fucked in the head Kael—felt something snap inside his ribs.

He kissed her. Hard, desperate, tasting salt and copper. She pushed against his chest first, then fisted her hands in his ruined shirt, pulling him closer.

When he pulled back, they were both breathing ragged. “You can’t keep doing this to me,” she whispered.

His laugh was broken, bitter. “And what the fuck do you want me to do, huh? Walk away from the only thing that keeps me sane? From the only place I know who the hell I am?”

Silence stretched between them, his pulse pounding against her cheek.

Then, softer—so soft it scared even him: “But I’ll tell you this—if I ever come back bloody, broken, or half-dead… it’ll never be yours. Never. I’ll make goddamn sure of that.”

Her breath hitched, her body finally relaxing just enough against his.

And Kael, exhausted, sweat and blood drying on his skin, realized he’d rather take ten more rounds in the cage than stand here watching her cry over him again.