"Great!" Claire said, clapping her hands once. "Come on, Cecile! Let's go check on the boys. I think they'll burn the house down if I leave them alone any longer."

Nathaniel and I stood up and walked Claire and her daughter to the door. It clicked shut. The sound echoed in my ears. I glanced at Nathaniel. I was alone with a man after all these months. My body stiffened, and my heart raced in my throat. I took a subtle step away from him.

"Um... Where are my clothes? The ones I was wearing yesterday?"

Nathaniel's keen eyes seemed to see more than what he let on. He ushered me to follow him. I did so from a safe distance. Even with my knife, I wasn't sure I could take him down. He was too big, his body corded with muscles. But having my knife would at least put my mind at ease.

He led me down another hallway next to the kitchen to a small laundry room. My clothes were neatly stacked on top of a counter. He stopped at the door, waving me inside. I shook my head, keeping my distance.

There was no way in hell I would put myself with him in a small space with no way out.

He arched a brow but said nothing. Walking inside, he retrieved the clothes and handed them to me. I kept my gaze firmly on his when I took them, and tried feeling for the knife discreetly.

"Looking for this?" he asked, taking my knife out of his jean's pocket. He flicked it open. My breathing stopped.

"There's blood on it," he said, staring right at me.

My hands tightened on the clothes. I raised my chin. "Yes."

"I didn't take in a murderer, did I?" he asked even as he closed the knife and handed it to me.

Furrowing my brows at his inconsistencies, I slowly reached for the knife, afraid he would take it back at the last second. When he didn't make a move to pull his hand away, I snatched it. I instantly felt better.

"If you think I'm a murderer, why give me my knife back?" I asked, flicking the knife open and close in quick movements, my eyes never leaving Nathaniel's.

"I never said you were." He shrugged, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. His biceps bulged. He could break me like a toothpick if he wanted. But so far, he hadn't made any hostile moves. He hadn't even tried coming close to me.

With a sigh, I closed the knife and tucked into the elastic band at the back of my pants. "Look, I can get out of here-"

"Whoa!" he straightened, holding his hands up. "Where did that come from? We were just chatting."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I wasn't in the mood for mind games. I had had enough of them to last me a lifetime.

"The blood is from the two guys who attacked me yesterday."

"Hmm," he said, sounding impressed. He moved forward, and I stepped back to let him lead the way back to the living room.

He did so, giving me his back very readily. I frowned after him. I had just admitted to injuring two men, I may have even killed them for all he knew. Was he stupid? Careless? Or was he just too confident that I couldn't hurt him.

"Why are you helping me?" I blurted out when we reached the open space.

He moved to the table and started piling up empty plates. "We told you. We couldn't take you to the hospital, so..."

I shook my head. "Exactly. Why would you even consider allowing me inside your house? You don't know me. I could be a thief, a murderer, the story I told you about my bruises could be a lie. Maybe Mark isn't even my brother. How can you be so sure you're not making a mistake? As far as I know of the world, normal people don't just take in strays."

He carried the plates to the kitchen. Looking over his shoulder at me with an amused smile. "Maybe I'm not normal."

I blew out a breath and put my clothes on the back of the couch. He wasn't going to give me a serious response. I helped him remove the dishes from the table while he rinsed them and stuck them in the dishwasher, all the while aware of his presence.

He was still at the sink when I was done. I took my clothes and took a step to go to Mark's room. His voice stopped me.

"You're right," he said, his back still to me. "I guess not everyone would've bothered to bring you home. But... let's just say I trust my instincts, and they tell me you're not as bad as you want me to think. I felt like helping you guys out and I did. No big deal."

His reasons were everything but logical. Whatever. We were only staying one night. I didn't have to understand the way his weird brain worked.

He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and hung it neatly on the oven handle. "Anyway. You like reading, right?"

I hugged the clothes to my chest. "What makes you say that?"

"You mentioned it earlier, when we were talking about Mark. Your eyes kind of lit up when you did," he walked away without another word towards the hallway that led to the bedroom. I followed, disliking the fact he could read me so well.

I didn't like a lot of things about this man.

I had always been told that my face was unreadable, and I liked it that way. It made me less approachable and saved me the trouble of unnecessary interactions.

"So, do you?" he asked, stopping by a door down the hallway and looking at me.

I shrugged.

Books had been my safe haven for years. Perhaps they were the reason I had survived, if not unscathed, then at least with a fragment of my soul intact. The darkness of that place would have devoured me whole and erased what made me me from existence.

Nathaniel's lips stretched into a smile. He shook his head, as if I amused him, pushed the door open and went inside.

I moved to the doorway and stopped, breath freezing in my lungs.

Beyond the threshold was the most beautiful space I'd ever seen. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, holding a sea of books. A dark wooden ceiling and similar flouring. A fireplace crackled on one side, across the room from it was a ground to ceiling glass wall, beyond which lay a city blanketed in white and a gray sky overhead.

The couch and armchairs were a dark brown color, with an intricate same-color pattern on the fabric. Flames licked the wood in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the floor and on the furniture nearby.

I didn't even realize I had walked in until I heard Nathaniel's voice behind me. "Daphne?"

I jumped, whirling around. I was in the middle of the room and he was close. Too close. He was just too much. Too tall. Too strong. Too imposing. Too ... male.

I took a step back, my hand going to the back of my pants where I had tucked in my pocket knife. I clutched it tightly, but kept it behind me, my eyes never leaving Nathaniel's dark brown ones. An odd look crossed them, too fleeting to make sense of. Then he smiled brightly.

"So..." he said, walking to the shelves. I kept my body facing him. "These are some of the books I've collected over the years, some I got as gifts, others I have no idea how they got here."

He paused and picked up one book with a grimace on his face. "Like this one."

He held up the book for me to see the cover. Even from a distance, I could see it was the cover of some teen romance novel. My lips twitched up and my hand loosened around the knife.

"Don't judge," he said with a smile, putting the book back in its place. "Damon probably sneaked it in here to irritate me."

I stuck the knife back in the band of my pants and set the stack of clothes on one of the small round tables in the corner. "Damon?"

"Younger brother, and a pain in my ass," Nathaniel replied, going to sit on one of the armchairs.

"You don't seem irritated," I said, moving along the book-lined wall and inspecting the volumes. I picked up a book that looked a bit old and worn out. There was something magical about rough, yellowed paper and words that survived decades.

"By a romance novel? Nah, I'm made of sterner stuff," he said, a smile in his voice. I could feel his gaze on me. "So what's your plan?"

I looked up from the book. He was looking at me. I didn't know what to make of his gaze. He saw too much. "My plan?"

"You know, for when you leave here?" he said. "You were mugged, so that explains the lack of belongings. No papers, no clothes, no money... how are you planning to make it out with basically nothing in the middle of winter, and with a child. I just don't see how that is possible."

"And I don't see how that is your business." I closed the book with a snap. Tucking it back in its spot, I turned fully to look at him. The words left a bitter taste on my tongue. I was being rude and mean for no reason. But I couldn't help the irritation that flared at his words.

He cocked his head to the side. "I'm just asking. You know what I'm saying is true."

I set my jaw. Of course it was true! But what was he expecting me to do? I would just have to figure things out. I always did. I had been taking care of myself for as long as I could remember, and I had taken care of Mark his whole life. I had basically become a mother at the age of eleven.

I would figure things out.

I opened my mouth to say just that. But his dark eyes stopped me. He looked at me like he knew I was full of shit, like he was daring me to brush his questions off. Like he could see the smallest seed of doubt that was starting to grow.

"I'll check on Mark," I said, stalking out of the room, the intensity of his gaze burning a hole in the side of my face.

God, he's infuriating!

Mark was still asleep. I just stood there observing him for a while. I sat down on the bed next to him, careful not to jostle him.

He looked so small, laying there in that big bed, so still and innocent, his young face peaceful in a way it rarely was, a little flushed from the heat of his earlier shower and the covers he was snuggled in.

I touched the fluffy blanket with cautious fingers. It was the softest, most luxurious thing to ever touch our bodies.

Something wet on my hand. Looking down, I realized a tear had fallen down from my eyes.

I was crying.

Quickly wiping away my cheeks, I rushed to the attached bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. With my hands on either side of the sink, I looked at my reflection. Blue eyes stared back at me, almost dead. The spark of life was buried so deep within you had to look very hard to find it. But it was still there. Stubbornly alive. I swallowed the knot in my throat.

When was the last time I had cried? I couldn't remember. No, I could, I just didn't want to think about that time. Everything is much easier when you keep your heart out of the equation.

Seeing Mark warm and full, so peaceful and comfortable, made the seed of doubt grow and sink its roots in my mind. Was I doing the right thing? All I ever wanted was a normal life for Mark. Why was it so damn hard to achieve even that?

I sighed, looking away from my face. Mark's voice floated from the bedroom.

"Daphie?"

"I'm here." I went out to find him rubbing his eyes, sitting in bed. He smiled when he saw me and held his arms wide open.

"A bed!" he said joyfully.

I blinked hard, hating how my voice cracked when I spoke. "Mhm, a very nice bed."

"Very nice bed," he repeated with an eager nod, flicking his fingers, he looked at the door. "Can I go play chess now?"

"Sure." He was out of bed before the word left my lips. I trailed after him. Nathaniel was in the kitchen, his hands busy, a kitchen towel over his shoulder.

"Markie, you're up," Nathaniel said, glancing over his shoulders with a smile. His eyes met mine for a second. I looked away first.

Mark giggled, sitting at the chess table where their earlier game was still paused. "He called me Markie, Daphie. Markie."

He started putting the pieces back into place, turning the chess board sideways so he could play against himself.

I approached the kitchen, where Nathaniel was placing something in the oven. "Is there anything I could help with?"

"Chicken is baking in the oven, and Claire will probably bring some side dishes," he said wiping his hands on the kitchen towel, "but I guess I'll make some salad. Do you mind cutting the vegetables?"

"Not at all."

I washed my hands. The cutting board was propped up near the stove. I set it on the island, took a kitchen knife from the stand and twirled it absentmindedly while Nathaniel pulled veggies from the fridge and washed them. Even as I watched Mark, I was aware of his eyes glancing my way every so often. Why did he stare so much?

"You're very handy with knives," Nathaniel said, putting the basket of vegetables next to the cutting board. My hand froze. I shrugged and began dicing the tomatoes. Nathaniel placed a glass bowl on the island.

"It's ... a useful skill," I replied carefully. Nathaniel laughed, the sound taking me by surprise. He shook his head, setting another cutting board on the island across from me.

"Sure is." He glanced over his shoulders at Mark. "What's he doing?"

"Playing against himself," I said. "He does that when there's no one challenging enough for him."

"Ouch."

I looked up, wary. But he didn't look offended. He was actually smiling. My shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Don't take it personally. He's just that good."

"He is good. I have a friend who's great at chess, maybe I'll bring him around some day to have a game with Mark. Who taught him to play?"

My knife paused for a fraction of a second. He spoke like we'd be staying here for a long time. I ignored it. It must have been a slip of a tongue. "He just learned from watching me, I believe."

The doorbell rang.

"That must be Claire," he wiped his hands on the kitchen towel and made his way to the front door. The sound of bickering boys preceded Claire, who appeared with a foil-covered casserole, Cecile skipping behind her with a stuffed doll.

Two identical boys, lanky with sandy brown hair and dark brown eyes, followed, each carrying a container. One of them rolled his eyes at the other, shaking his head as he put the container on the island. His twin, a scowling and grumbling version of his brother, put the casserole down with more force than necessary.

Nathaniel gave him a long look that the boy ignored.

Claire beamed at me, setting the casserole down while I finished cutting the vegetables. Cecile plopped down on the couch and peeked at Mark as he moved the pieces across the board.

"These two are my sons," Claire said, waving to the twins across from us, "Evan and Elijah. This is Daphne and her brother, Mark."

Evan smiled politely with a small 'hello', while Elijah grumbled a 'hi' and looked away.

Nathaniel assembled the salad as I finished off. Claire got some plates and cutlery out on the island. "Boys, go set the table, please."

They did as their mother asked, Elijah huffing out a breath. I helped Claire and Nathaniel dish out the food in the containers, keeping an eye on Mark. He was so focused on his game that he didn't notice the boys sitting nearby next to Cecile.

"Hey!" Cecile said when Elijah tried to take her doll. Mark froze, glancing up.

"Elijah Christopher Price," Claire said calmly without even looking at them. "Give your sister her doll back."

He threw it at her lap and jumped up, his eyes fixed on Mark and his chessboard. Just as he took a step toward him, Mark stood up and looked around until his eyes found me. He rushed over to my side.

"Is he okay?" Nathaniel asked, taking the tray out of the oven, the smell of baked chicken permeating the air.

"Yeah, I think," I smoothed Mark's curls. He buried his face in my side, his hand tightly clutching my clothes. My eyes went over to Elijah who was now interested in the chess pieces.

Mark remained by my side as we put all the dishes on the table and took our seats. On one side of the table Claire sat with Cecile and Elijah. On the other side Evan sat next to his uncle, then me and Mark at the end, facing Elijah.

Claire and Nathaniel kept the conversation easy-going and light.

"What grade is Mark?" Evan asked at one point.

"Uh... he's sort of home schooled. But I think he finished high-school level education." At least according to the books we had.

"He did?" Nathaniel and Evan asked simultaneously with wide eyes.

Nodding, I ate a forkful of rice, slowly chewing. Watching Elijah out of the corner of my eyes. He kept staring at Mark.

Mark started tapping his fingers on the table. I put more of the baked potatoes he had finished on his plate.

I'd always taught him that being the center of attention was bad. It had been where we lived. So being the subject of conversation would stress him out.

"Why didn't he go to school? Is something wrong with him?" Elijah asked, frowning at Mark.

"Elijah." Claire's voice was firm, holding a note of warning.

My shoulders tensed. Anger and annoyance tightened my chest. Not at Elijah. He was just a curious child. But his questions were a harsh reminder of what I could've had, of what I could never have and above all, of all that I couldn't offer Mark and all that he missed.

I was angry at my helplessness and the unfairness of it all.

Mark's fingers tapping turned more forceful.

"Stop doing that. It's annoying," Elijah said, glaring at Mark. I stiffened, my hold on the fork tightening. Mark immediately retreated his hands under the table, looking down.

I knew the signs.

"Elijah," Nathaniel said with an icy tone. "Go to my room."

"But-"

"Now, Elijah," Claire added with a stern expression. Elijah huffed, his chair scraping on the floor as he stood up and stalked to the hallway leading to the rooms.

"Excuse me. I'm going to take Mark, too." I stood up and carried Mark in my arms, keeping his hands and arms out of sight.

I put Mark on the bed after reaching the room then locked the door. He was doing exactly what I had expected. I rushed to him and took hold of his hands. He'd scratched his arms bloody. The damage was more serious than I thought; I hadn't cut his nails in quite a while.

"Mark, Mark." I tried keeping his hands still. He trashed around, holding back whimpers, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Being around new people triggered his episodes, and the instability of our lives over the past few months didn't help.

One of his hands slipped my hold and flailed around, nails scraping the skin of my cheek. I ignored the sting, holding back my own tears. I hated seeing him this way.

It lasted longer than the morning's meltdown. About an hour or so later, he calmed down enough for me to loosen my hold. We were both worn out. I let out a heavy sigh and pulled away. He immediately curled around himself, knees pulled to his chest and arms around them, head tucked down. Dried blood marred the pale skin of his forearms.

I got a lightly wet towel from the bathroom. "Do you want to clean up?" I asked in a low voice.

He didn't reply, just raised his head and held his arms out. I cleaned his tears and his arms. Pink lines scored his arms. The sight pinched my heart into a tight ball. I hoped they wouldn't scar.

"Do you want to eat something? Do you want me to bring you something?" I asked, clutching the wet towel.

He shook his head and with a raspy voice he replied, "chess."

"The chessboard?" I asked and he nodded. I jumped to my feet. "Okay, okay I'll bring it to you now, alright?"

I put the towel in the bathroom and hurried out. Nathaniel, Cecile and Evan were the only ones there. The table had been cleared. They were all sitting in the living room.

"How is he?" Nathaniel asked, looking up from his book when I walked in.

"He's okay." My eyes flickered to the chess board. "Can I- can he... borrow the chessboard? Just for a little while."

"Of course," Nathaniel put his book down and opened the chess board like it was a box, putting all the pieces inside then closed it. "Here, he can keep it as long as he wants". He looked at my cheek for a second too long.

"Are you okay?" Claire asked. "I'm sorry. I talked to the boys before we got here, but Elijah is... he can be a bit of a rebel."

"It's okay. We'll be fine. Thank you." I took the chessboard from Nathaniel and hugged it to my chest, walking backwards. "and I'm sorry, too. I'll just take this."

Nathaniel's eyes watched me as I turned and headed to Mark's room. As soon as he saw the chessboard, he left his spot on the bed and sat on the carpet, reaching for it.

I heaved a shuddering breath, giving him room as he quickly emptied the chessboard and set out to put the pieces in their place, his movements jerky.

After a few minutes, his body relaxed. He focused on the chess pieces, whatever was bothering him forgotten already.

I let him do his thing. Chess always helped calm him down. Going to the window, I peeked through the sheer curtains. Snow piled on the streets and buildings. Cars and people, bundled up in winter coats, struggled to make their way through the fluffy white layer. More flakes fell, thickening the pale blanket.

I hugged myself against a shiver. God, we were so lucky. If I hadn't fainted right outside that restaurant, if I hadn't been mugged in that horrible neighborhood, if Nathaniel and Claire weren't the ones to find us, Mark and I would probably be somewhere else. I didn't know where, but I doubted it would be better than our current situation.

No matter how temporary it was.

I stayed with Mark for a few hours, his focus not once shifting from the board. My brain refused to rest. I went over every step we took since leaving the House, and went through every possible scenario we could face after leaving here. I didn't know how much time passed until there was a knock on the door. The light coming through the window had dimmed.

It was Nathaniel.

"Dinner is ready," he said, standing at the doorway.

"Oh." I looked over my shoulder at Mark. "Mark?"

He shook his head vigorously.

"Everyone already left," Nathaniel said, looking at Mark. "It's just the three of us."

Mark's fleeting glance fell on Nathaniel. After a beat of silence he stood up. Nathaniel went ahead of us to the living room. I stared at his back. He could already read Mark well enough.

Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Dinner was so good I had to keep myself from shoveling food inside my mouth. Especially when the thought that this was our last night here kept echoing in my brain.

That same thought kept me awake long after I tucked Mark into bed. He fell asleep in a matter of minutes, warm and full, leaving me to my anxiety. My heart refused to settle down. I stared at the ceiling, the lights from the cars swinging by, illuminating the room for a fleeting moment before darkness claimed it again. The wind howled outside, and I shivered despite the cozy covers.

With a deep sigh, I rolled out of bed and tucked the knife in the back of my pants. There was no sleep. Wrapping my arms around myself, I picked my way through the living room to the kitchen. The apartment was dark safe for the street light filtering in through the glass of the French doors. I had a glass of water, wincing at the noise of the faucet, before folding my body on the couch.

I hugged my knees to my chest as Nathaniel's earlier words resonated in my ears.

"How are you planning to make it out with basically nothing in the middle of winter, and with a child. I just don't see how that is possible."

I lowered my face between my knees. My head hurt.

We needed to make it out of the state, but we had no money to travel. And traveling in the winter with nothing but the clothes on our back wasn't a very smart move, especially with Mark around.

There were so many times I had thought that maybe leaving Mark with social services or some child association would be better for him. He was still a child, so they would take care of him with no questions asked. But I was afraid they would find him.

Or maybe that was just an excuse. Maybe I was too selfish to let Mark go. Because the moment Mark wasn't with me, the moment I knew he would be fine without me, I was afraid I'd lose the will to fight, to live.

Maybe I should do that? At least then only I would freeze to death.

The ironic thing was, dying from the cold wasn't the thing that frightened me the most. I would choose freezing to death any time over going back to that hell.

I jumped, realizing I had dozed off at some point. I uncurled myself and padded to the living room window next to the balcony doors. There wasn't a living soul in the streets. The wind no longer howled, but snow was still falling in soft petals to the ground.

There were people out there right now trying to find warmth in the cold snow. It was amazing how such a beautiful, soft thing could be the cause of so much suffering.

A presence behind me. My reflexes took over my body before my brain even caught up. I whirled around, the knife in my hand. My eyes found Nathaniel's dark ones from across the room.

Under the muted light seeping through the windows, I could see his brows shooting up as he stood there with his hands in his pockets.

"I didn't even make a sound," he said, slowly walking towards me. His eyes flickered from the knife to my face. He sat down on an armchair and pointed to the knife. "That thing pointed at me makes me very uncomfortable, you know."

Taking a calming breath, I folded the knife and put it away.

"You're up already?" He looked laid-back, lounging there with his cheek on his fist. I resisted the urge to shift under his intense gaze.

"I never really sleep." I bit my tongue. It must be lack of sleep that made the words escape. I looked outside one last time before going to sit on the couch, as far away from him as possible.

"Why is that?"

I sighed. Maybe it was the magic of the quiet night, or the thought that I was never going to see Nathaniel again after tonight, but I replied when I shouldn't have.

"When you live your whole life looking over your shoulder, you can't afford the luxury of letting your guard down."

Nathaniel was quiet for a few minutes, and when I finally looked at him, he was staring at me with an unmovable gaze.

"What are you running away from?"

A humorless chuckle escaped me. "I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?" he asked with an arched brow.

I shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm leaving in the morning anyways."

A deep breath slipped past his lips. He shifted in his chair, retrieving something from his pocket. A cell phone.

His fingers moved on the screen, the light casting sharp shadows on his face. Then he stretched his arm and held the phone out to me.

I looked at the phone then at him in a confused frown. He waved the phone. "Look."

Gingerly, I scooted on the couch until I reached the phone and took it in both hands, afraid it would break down if I moved the wrong way. Information about the weather filled the screen. Before I could make sense of it, he spoke.

"The weather will get worse. A winter storm will hit the day after tomorrow, it could last a couple of days and the temperatures will be pretty low. A state of emergency will probably be called tomorrow."

My heart raced. I looked at Nathaniel. "Why are you showing me this-"

"Stay."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed the back of his neck. "Stay for a few days. At least until the weather stabilizes a little bit."

"Are you serious?"

He looked at me like I was an alien then slowly nodded. "Yes. There's a spare room and more than enough food for all of us. So stay."

"I..." I gulped, frowning at the man offering his home to strangers. "You're..."

I shook my head and looked around the dark apartment, but it didn't offer any insight on how this man's brain worked. I must be asleep. There was no way he wanted us to stay in his house, especially after the fuss Mark had made today.

I squinted at him. Suspicion flared in my guts. "What do you want?"

He frowned, looking lost. "Like I said, I want you guys to stay."

"No. I mean in return. What do you want in return?" I clarified.

He leaned back in his seat. "I don't want anything in return, Daphne. I'm simply offering you a free stay, it won't cost me anything."

I observed the mountain of a man sitting back in his chair. I couldn't understand this man. Either I was completely blind to his hidden agenda or he was a genuinely good person.

Or he was a naive idiot, but that was quite doubtful.

"You don't trust me," he stated.

"Of course I don't trust you," I replied. His lips twitched up. "I barely know you. I mean, you don't trust me, either. That's normal."

He shrugged. "Hey, maybe I do."

I almost scoffed. Right.

"Okay, let's do this," he said, clapping his hands once, looking pleased with himself. "In the upcoming days it's going to be difficult for my housekeeper to come take care of the house. So, how about you do her work in return for your stay here? What do you say?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, considering his offer. "What does that 'work' entail?"

"Cleaning, laundry, stuff like that."

I would be thankful for a warm place to stay with Mark until the weather was better. It would be amazing. But something about this man's kindness rubbed me off the wrong way. It was so ... genuine. An emotion I wasn't used to.

But I didn't tell him that. I just nodded, because passing on the offer would be suicidal. If he really wasn't who he pretended to be, I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. I'd dealt with worse and gotten out alive.

Besides, I'd handled enough trashy men to recognize one even beyond the flashy exterior. And Nathaniel didn't strike me as one of them.