Slade stayed longer than he usually did.

The house felt quieter now—not peaceful, just emptier, like something loud and heavy had finally stopped taking up all the air. He moved through it carefully, as if sudden motion might crack something fragile that was only just beginning to settle.

He set a mug on the table within her reach. “You don’t have to drink it yet,” he said gruffly. “Just… when you’re ready.”

He checked the locks out of habit, then forced himself to stop after the second pass. No one was coming. Not anymore. He knew that. His body just hadn’t caught up yet.

Slade leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes on the window instead of her. “You don’t owe anyone a timeline,” he said. “Healing’s not a schedule. It’s… messy.”

A pause. Longer than comfortable.

“I should’ve seen it sooner,” he added, jaw tightening. “Should’ve done more.”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. “But he’s gone now. That part’s done. You’re safe.”

Slade pulled out a chair and sat, close but not crowding, presence solid and unmovable. “You can take all the time you need,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll handle the rest.”

He reached out and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders with a gentleness that didn’t match the hands doing it. “Sleep when you can. Rest. Let your body catch up to what your mind’s already trying to survive.”

His voice dropped, rougher now. “You took care of me when you didn’t have to,” he said. “My turn.”

Slade stayed there after that, saying nothing more, just existing in the space like a guard posted for the long haul.

For the first time in her life, no one was rushing her to be strong.

And Slade made damn sure no one ever would again.