Chapter 7 The Fortress Within

• Lidia’s POV
• His touch was everything I hadn’t known I craved—warm, steady, human.
• It terrified me.
• My body leaned into it on instinct, betraying everything I’d taught myself. Because for one fractured second, I felt like I could collapse into him, like his hands could hold all the shattered pieces of me without dropping a single one.
• But comfort is dangerous.
• And trust is suicide.
• I shifted away. Just enough. Just enough to let his hand fall back to his side. Not harsh. Not fast. But firm.
• Walls. Rebuilt. Sealed.
• His eyes didn’t change. They didn’t soften or narrow. They deepened—watching me with the kind of silence that said he understood the unspoken rules I was following.
• Don’t get too close.
• Don’t let them see.
• Don’t ever need.
• “I’m fine,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant, the words slipping like broken glass. “Really.”
• Arias didn’t push. He just watched me for another long moment, then nodded slowly, like a man deferring to a storm he didn’t want to chase… yet.
• “Understood.”
• The distance returned like a tide. He straightened, stepping back, the heat of his presence cooling into something… professional.
• But beneath the surface, I could feel the tension in him. It wasn’t gone. Just waiting. Like a loaded gun with the safety on.
• “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said, voice even, unreadable now. “There’s food in the fridge. The pantry’s fully stocked. If you need anything, call Matias.”
• I nodded, clutching the sketchbook like it was armor.
• His gaze lingered on me one more time. I could feel the weight of it on my cheek, on the bruise, on the shadow I hadn’t meant to reveal. But he didn’t say another word.
• He turned and walked to the door.
• I didn’t move until it clicked shut behind him.
• Then I exhaled like I hadn’t breathed in hours.
• The apartment felt colder now. Emptier.
• I stared out at the city, the night wrapping around glass like a silk shroud. The lights were soft—distant stars in a world I still wasn’t sure I belonged to. My sketchbook was still in my lap, the half-drawn silhouette of Arias staring back at me.
• I flipped the page.
• Then another.
• Until I reached a blank sheet. Clean. Waiting.
• My fingers found the charcoal without thinking. And slowly, I started drawing again. Not him this time. Not the fire. Not even the shadows.
• I drew myself.
• Not the girl with the perfect strokes and curated mystery. Not the name I signed in secret. Just Lidia. Raw. Messy. Silent.
• A girl curled on a floor, her back open like torn canvas, surrounded by hands that held nothing but air.
• A girl with eyes wide open and no one to look at her.
• And behind her… a door. Not open. But cracked. Just enough for light to slip through. It pulsed faintly—warm, golden, alive. Like it was waiting. I didn’t sleep much that night. Every creak in the floorboards felt like breath held too long. Every shadow like a whisper. But when I finally did—curled beneath soft blankets that didn’t smell like fear—my dreams were quiet. No chasing. No falling. No fire. And for the first time in years, I didn’t wake up screaming. Just the hush of morning light, and the echo of a door… still slightly open.
• But when I finally did—curled beneath soft blankets that didn’t smell like fear—my dreams were quiet.
• And for the first time in years, I didn’t wake up screaming.