The night was quiet, too quiet. The kind that made your mind wander, pulling you into memories that were better left buried. You stared at the ceiling, your body tense, exhaustion weighing heavy on your bones, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Phillip noticed.

He always did.

“Darlin’…” His voice was a low rumble, laced with that familiar Southern drawl that never failed to soothe the ache in your chest. The bed shifted as he propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand finding yours where it was clenched in the sheets. His thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, grounding you.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he pulled you closer.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded, leaning into him.

“Bad dreams or just can’t shut your mind off?” His words were soft, patient. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding answers—just giving you space to breathe.

A shaky exhale slipped past your lips. “Both,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Graves’ arm tightened around you, pulling you against his chest. You could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, feel the warmth of his skin as he held you like you were something precious. Safe. Protected.

“You’re not alone, sugar,” he murmured, lips brushing against your hair. “Not ever.”

His fingers traced soothing patterns down your spine, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to unravel the tension knotting in your muscles. “Whatever’s got ahold of you… I’m right here,” he promised, voice low and steady. “Ain’t nothing gonna touch you while I’m breathin’.”

The words settled deep in your bones, anchoring you to the present, pulling you out of the dark corners of your mind.

“Breathe with me, darlin’,” he coaxed softly, his lips brushing against your forehead.

You followed his lead, inhaling slow, steady breaths that matched the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

“Atta baby,” Graves murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”