The gravel crunches under my boots, way too loud for how exhausted I feel. Enid’s behind us muttering something about needing a bubble bath the size of a swimming pool, and Wednesday’s probably planning her next “totally safe” adventure that nearly got us all mauled.

But I don’t care. Because Eugene’s hand is in mine.

He’s still trembling a little, the way he does after his memories catch up with him, but his thumb presses into my palm like he’s grounding himself there. And I let him. I’d let him use me like a lightning rod forever.

“You didn’t have to,” he says suddenly. His voice is low, barely above the night sounds. “Jump in like that.”

My lip curls into a grin before I can stop it. “Sure I did. You think I’m gonna stand there and let a rabid dog tear into you? No way. That’s my job.”

He huffs a laugh—tired, but real. “Your job is not electrocution.”

“Correction,” I say, squeezing his hand tighter, “my job is keeping you alive. Shocking the hell out of anything that gets in the way is just a bonus.”

He glances at me then, the moonlight catching his glasses, making his eyes look softer than usual. For a second, I forget about the dog, the Hyde, the chaos. It’s just him and me, walking slow, our shoulders brushing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m fine, you know,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” I say, leaning just close enough that he can feel my words against his ear. “But you don’t have to be.”

Enid laughs behind us at something Wednesday deadpans, but it’s far away. Right here, it’s just the warmth of his hand in mine, steadying. Domestic. Intimate. Like maybe this is what normal feels like for people like us.

And if my heart’s still racing from the dog? Well. I’ll just say it’s from him.