Page 60 of Forged

He rises to sit beside me, pulling me into him. I place my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat beginning to slow.

As he grips me tighter, I say, “I know you do.”

But right now, as I sit shaking in his arms, I’m not sure if that’s true.

I’m curledon the couch with my legs tucked beneath me, Lars seated behind me, one arm anchored around my shoulder. He hasn’t left me since we got home. Not when I kicked off my shoes. Not when I changed into his shirt. Not even when I told him twice that I was fine.

He shifts, adjusting me closer, his chin resting at the top of my head.

“You’re fussing,” I say gently, more amused than annoyed.

“I’m not,” he replies.

I tilt my head back just enough to look at him. “You are absolutely fussing.”

His mouth curves, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m holding you.”

“I’m okay now,” I say. “You can breathe.”

He exhales slowly through his nose, tightening his arm for a second before loosening it again. “I know.”

I turn in his hold, shifting so I’m facing him, my knees brushing his thighs. “You don’t have to stay wound this tight,” I tell him quietly. “I’m right here.”

“I know where you are,” he says. “That’s not the problem.”

His thumb traces the seam of my shirt, back and forth, grounding himself as much as me. I watch his eyes, the fear still there.

“I don’t like that I wasn’t there,” he adds. “I don’t like that someone thought they could get close to you and survive it.”

“You have them now,” I point out. I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his. “Lars. I’m safe. You did everything right.”

“I should be telling you that.”

His hands slide to my hips, pulling me closer until I’m seated fully in his lap. He drops his forehead to my shoulder, breath warm against my skin through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

“I need to hold you a little longer,” he whispers. “Just let me, please.”

I sink into him, head on his chest. Minutes pass like that. Us holding each other in the quiet, his heartbeat strong against mycheek—until his phone vibrates on the coffee table. I feel the change in him before he moves. The way his body tenses, attention snapping outward. He reaches past me for the phone, eyes already narrowed when Enzo’s name appears on the screen.

He answers, one arm still wrapped around me. “Talk.”

I don’t hear Enzo’s voice, but I hear the change in Lars’ tone. The way his jaw sets. The way his free hand curls into a fist against my thigh.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Lars asks.

A pause.

“No,” he says flatly. “That doesn’t happen by accident.”

My stomach tightens.

He sits forward, places a kiss on my cheek and gently moves me off him. He stands and begins to pace the room, phone pressed to his ear.

“When was the last confirmed sighting?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“You’re sure it was him?” His voice drops.