GTS Syndrome Vol 2 Ch 6: Penelope’s Fears, Please Let Me Make It!

(Penelope) I looked down at him—Braden. Nestled softly between my breasts, his little body rising and falling with every breath. It was ridi

(Penelope)

I looked down at him—Braden. Nestled softly between my breasts, his little body rising and falling with every breath. It was ridiculous how fragile he was. So tiny, so warm. Gods, he was adorable like this. Vulnerable in every way. A part of me wanted to scoop him up again, press him against my cheek and feel that warmth, but I resisted. He needed rest. They always did.

Men.

Soft, breakable things. Always needing food, water, warmth, affection. Always needing to be protected. And here I was, doing just that. I never thought I'd be in this situation—caring for one. Carrying one. Sleeping with one pressed into me like he belonged there. Because he did. He does.

I gently patted his head with the pad of my finger. Just the tiniest touch, the kind I'd never give in a fight. "Yes..." I whispered to no one but the stars. "He's mine."

The wind picked up just a little, brushing through my hair. The fire had long since died down, and even if it hadn't, the cold in these parts always came like a snake—silent and creeping. But I didn't feel it. I rarely did. My kind was built differently. Hardened. Adaptable.

I didn't need sleep—not for another few days, at least. We could go a full week without shutting our eyes if needed. It was one of the perks, I guess, of being a daughter of Kytherra. Kingdom-born. Soldier-made. One of the few that didn't fall when the sky cracked open and the green snow fell.

The night was quiet now. No more wails. No more corrupted. Just stillness. The kind of quiet that you could almost pretend was peace.

I tilted my head back, eyes on the sky. The stars were out in full force, sprinkled across the darkness like diamond dust. And there, shining with cold clarity, the moon.

A waxing gibbous.

"Waxing Gibbous," I murmured under my breath, squinting at it like I was reading something written across its surface. "Two, maybe three days until full."

I took a breath and exhaled slow.

"We're not going to make it."

The words came out before I could stop them. Heavy. Quiet. Real.

He didn't hear me. He was fast asleep, tucked against my skin, warm and safe from the monsters out there. But I said it anyway because it needed to be said. Because the truth has a way of crawling up your throat when the night is this silent and the only one who can hear it is the moon.

I spent the whole night lying still—unmoving, unblinking, barely breathing.

You'd think, with how many days I've spent on battlefields or patrolling the frostlands of Kytherra, that staying still wouldn't be that hard. But you'd be wrong. It was torture. Every shift of muscle, every itch on my nose or twitch in my leg—it took all my focus to ignore it. Why? Because of the tiny, warm thing sleeping against me.

Braden.

Gods, he was so small.

I kept glancing down at him through the night. His chest rising and falling, lips slightly parted, a little line of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth to my skin. It was almost cute... actually, no—it was cute. Annoyingly cute. And peaceful. So peaceful.

I didn't want to wake him. I couldn't. He looked like he hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep in years. And maybe he hadn't. So I stayed still, grounding my thoughts, calming my mind, thinking only about the stars, the air, the road ahead.

If I was really going to live with a man—travel with him, protect him—I had to get used to this. The stillness. The care. The weight.

Morning came slow. The first light bled into the sky like honey spilling from a jar, soft and golden. I blinked as the color shifted above me, and finally let my head tilt down toward the little lump curled into the space between my breasts.

He was still asleep.

I smiled.

"Time to wake up," I whispered, gently running the tip of my finger along his back.

He mumbled something in his sleep, his tiny body wriggling against me. Then, slowly, his head lifted. His hair was messy—messier than usual—and he let out a long, exaggerated stretch, arms flopping back behind him like a kitten.

"Morning," I said with a grin, watching him blink into the rising light.

He rubbed his eyes and looked up at me. "Morning, Penelope."

I liked the way he said my name. Soft but not afraid. Familiar.

I sat up slowly, careful not to jostle him too much. My back cracked with a sharp pop, and I winced. "Stars above, I need a proper bed."

He snorted. "You're a walking mountain and you're complaining about back pain?"

"Even mountains shift," I said with a chuckle, scooping him up with one hand. He didn't resist. That was nice. I held him in my palm for a moment before gently placing him on my shoulder.

The sun was just starting to stretch across the rocks and ruins. Another five days, maybe four if I pushed it, and we'd be at the gates of Nara'tahl. The City of Sand.

"Hold on tight," I said, tightening the strap on my pack and stepping forward into the rising heat.

As we walked, I found myself glancing at him more than once. He was perched there on my shoulder like he belonged, like he'd always been there. Watching the world with those sharp eyes. Wary, smart, tired.

He didn't know what I knew. Didn't feel what I felt deep in my chest. The pressure. The dread curling in the pit of my stomach.

I looked ahead at the road, then back at him.

"Please," I thought, gripping the strap of my pack tighter. "Please let me make it. Let us make it."

Because if I didn't... if something happened before we reached the city...

I didn't know what I'd do.