Dinner was quiet. Just like during lunch, Jin picked at her food like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. I made a few half-hearted attempts at conversation, but each one fizzled out under the weight of her indifference. Eventually, I gave up, focusing on my own plate while keeping an eye on her out of the corner of my vision.

  She ate slowly, methodically, but she didn’t finish. When she finally set her fork down, her eyes darted toward the bedroom, her posture stiffening as if she was bracing herself. She stood, her movements hesitant, and started toward the bed without a word.

  “Jin,” I called after her softly.

  She froze mid-step, her shoulders tensing. Her tail curled tightly around her leg as she glanced back at me, her eyes wide and uncertain.

  “You need to wash up first,” I said gently, gesturing toward the bathroom. “And brush your teeth. Come on.”

  Her ears drooped slightly, her posture sinking into itself as she gave a small, reluctant nod. She followed me toward the bathroom, her footsteps dragging, and the closer we got, the more I could feel the tension radiating from her.

  Her steps were hesitant, each one an act of will that seemed harder than the last. She paused in the doorway, her claws tapping softly against the wood. Her tail flicked once behind her, coiling loosely around her leg. I moved closer, brushing a hand lightly against her back to nudge her forward. “Come on,” I said gently. “Just a quick wash-up, and then we’ll get to bed.”

  Her ears twitched as she stepped inside reluctantly, her gaze fixed on the floor as if the polished tiles were the most fascinating thing in the room. I reached past her to grab the toothbrush, running it under the water and adding a dab of toothpaste.

  “Here,” I said softly, holding it up for her. “Let’s take care of this.”

  She hesitated, her claws flexing against the hem of my oversized hoodie she was wearing. Her breathing quickened slightly, uneven and shallow, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away entirely. But then she glanced at me, her eyes wide and uncertain, and gave the faintest nod.

  “Good,” I murmured, offering her a small smile. “Let’s start.”

  I guided her to sit on the edge of the sink, her tail coiling around me like a tether. Her movements were stiff, every muscle in her body screaming reluctance, but she didn’t resist as I tilted her chin upward. Her lips parted slightly, and I slipped the toothbrush inside, keeping my movements slow and steady.

  “There we go,” I said softly, my voice as calm as I could manage. “Just like before.”

  Her eyes stayed locked on mine, searching for reassurance. Her tail uncoiled from me and brushed against my arm in nervous, hesitant flicks as I worked, the bristles moving carefully over her teeth. She hummed faintly, the sound more of a reflex than anything else, but it was enough to tell me she was still with me.

  When I finished, I rinsed the toothbrush and set it aside, stepping back slightly to give her space. She sat still for a moment, her hands gripping the sink as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Her gaze flicked toward the mirror again, her entire body tensing as her reflection came into view.

  “Jin?” I said gently, reaching out to touch her arm.

  She flinched, jerking away as her sleeve slipped up to reveal one of the scars etched into her forearm. The sight of it sent her spiraling; her breathing hitched sharply, and her claws dug into the fabric of the hoodie as if she could hide from the truth staring back at her.

  “It’s okay,” I said quickly, reaching out to the shivering succubus. “Jinny, it’s okay.”

  Her hands trembled, her claws tearing into the fabric of the hoodie as she curled in on herself. Her tail lashed wildly, striking the side of the sink with a dull thud. She made a low, broken sound deep in her throat, one that sent a cold spike through my chest.

  I reached for her slowly, my movements deliberate and careful. “Hey,” I murmured, brushing a hand lightly against her shoulder. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

  Her eyes darted to mine, wide and glassy, but there was no recognition in them. She was somewhere else—somewhere darker, somewhere I couldn’t reach her with words alone. I cupped her face gently, tilting her head until her gaze met mine fully.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Jin,” I said firmly, keeping my voice low and steady. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me.”

  Her breathing hitched again, her claws flexing against the hoodie. She let out another shaky sound, her tail curling tightly around her leg as she tried to make herself smaller.

  “You’re here,” I repeated, my thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “And you’re safe. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Her gaze flickered, the faintest spark of awareness returning. She blinked rapidly, her breathing slowing just enough for me to see that she was starting to come back to me.

  “There you are,” I murmured, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Stay with me, okay? Just breathe.”

  She let out a shaky breath, her claws releasing their grip on the hoodie. Her hands hovered uncertainly for a moment before brushing lightly against mine. I took them in my own, guiding them away from the fabric and holding them steady.

  “You’re not what they did to you,” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion. “None of this—none of these scars—define you. You’re so much more than that.”

  She opened her mouth again as if she wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, she pressed her forehead against my shoulder just like earlier, her body trembling as she clung to me. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as she shifted and buried her face against my neck.

  “They took so much from you,” I murmured, my hand brushing lightly through her hair. “But they didn’t take you. You’re still here, Jin. And you’re not alone.” Her breathing evened out further, her body relaxing slightly against mine. I held her like that for a long moment, letting her lean on me as the tension slowly bled away. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red-rimmed but focused. Her gaze met mine, tentative but steady, and she gave a small nod as if to say, I’ll try.

  “That’s all I ask,” I said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just keep trying.” Jin's fingers brushed against mine once more in a silent gesture of thanks, and I guided her toward the door with a hand on her back. She walked slowly, her movements careful, as if each step were a test of her own resolve. “Let’s get some rest,” I said, offering her a small smile as we reached the bedroom. “Tomorrow’s a new day."

  Jin hesitated at the door. She clung to the oversized hoodie, her hands buried in the fabric as if it were armor. The hem twisted beneath her fingers, the nervous movement stark against her usual grace. When she finally sat down on the edge of the bed, her body was tense, her tail wrapped tightly around one leg, its shaking tip the only hint of her restlessness.

  I sat down on my side of the bed, giving her space, though the distance felt heavier than usual. She didn’t look at me. Instead, her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, her shoulders drawn in and her frame tight, like she was holding herself together with sheer willpower.

  “Let’s get you settled,” I said softly, my tone steady.

  She didn’t respond, but she didn’t resist either as I guided her to lie down. The way she moved was hesitant, her motions jerky, as though she was afraid to do the wrong thing. When she finally rested against the pillows, she kept her hands clenched in the blankets, pulling them up to cover as much of herself as possible.

  I adjusted the blankets around her, tucking them in gently, though she stiffened at my touch. Her tail lay limp beside her, unmoving—a stark contrast to the usual way it so often sought me out instinctively. Her body was physically close, but everything about her posture screamed distance.

  I could barely see her expression, but the way her pointed ears flattened against her hair was telling. She was closing herself off, retreating into some internal place I couldn’t reach. Leaning back against the headboard, my eyes flicking over her, trying to make sense of her withdrawal. Normally, Jin was the one who sought closeness, wrapping herself around me as though she couldn’t bear to be apart. Tonight, though, she stayed curled in on herself, a fragile barrier between us.

  “Jin,” I said quietly, breaking the silence. “You don’t have to stay over there. I’m right here.”

  She didn’t move, but her tail gave a faint, hesitant twitch. Her hands gripped the blanket more tightly, and I could see the way her shoulders tensed further at my words. I exhaled softly, trying again. “You’re not going to hurt me.” Her tail flicked again, this time sharper, but she still didn’t respond. Her breathing was quiet, but the hitch in each inhale betrayed her turmoil.

  The memory of the morning was fresh in my mind—her panic, the way she’d lashed out unintentionally. She was still caught in it, replaying it in her head over and over, unable to let it go.

  “You’re afraid,” I said, keeping my voice gentle. “Afraid you might hurt me again.”

  Her hands stilled against the blankets, the motion so subtle I might have missed it if I weren’t watching her so closely. She tilted her head ever so slightly, enough for me to catch the faint glint of her eyes in the dim light. They were glassy, wide with an unspoken apology.

  “You didn’t mean to,” I continued, shifting a little closer but keeping enough distance to respect the fragile space she’d created. “You slipped and panicked, these things happen. And Vivi fixed the worst up immediately. But that doesn’t mean I’m afraid of you.”

  Her shoulders twitched at that, her body curling even tighter into itself. The hoodie swallowed her up, the fabric hiding most of her except for her tail and the tips of her ears. I sighed softly, leaning back against the headboard again. “Jin, it’s okay. I’m not upset. I just... I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep this wall up.”

  The silence once again stretched between us, heavy and charged. I didn’t press her further, didn’t try to close the distance. She needed time, and I wasn’t about to rush her. But every second that passed without her moving closer felt like a tiny weight added to my chest. Her tail flicked once more, slower this time, as if she were testing the waters. Her grip on the blankets loosened just slightly, her knuckles no longer as white. “I’m here,” I reminded her softly, my tone almost a whisper. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Her breathing hitched again, but this time it steadied more quickly. She didn’t move toward me, but the tension in her posture eased just enough to make it clear she’d heard me.

  It was a start, at least.