Herschel walks in on you.

Your thumb is still under her palm when the floorboards creak behind you.

Both of you freeze.

You don't turn around. You know what's coming. You've heard the heavy footsteps before—Herschel's boots pounding across the kitchen, the way his weight hits the floor like he's trying to break it.

"Damned animals are gonna be the death of me!"

His voice booms from the doorway. You slowly pull your hand back from hers, but you can still feel the ghost of her touch, the heat of it. Hannah's eyes flick to you for a second before she looks down, her fingers curling into her lap.

Herschel steps into the kitchen, his face red, his eyes burning. He's holding his belt in one hand, the leather dangling like a threat. He points at you, then at her, his jaw working like he's chewing on something bitter.

"You," he growls, pointing at you. "Get out of my house. All of you."

Then he swings his arm toward Hannah. "Get dinner ready. I'm layin' down."

He doesn't wait for her to answer. He turns and stomps out of the kitchen, his boots heavy on the stairs. The door slams—*SLAM*—the sound echoing through the whole house like a gunshot.

Silence falls over the kitchen.

Hannah doesn't move at first. Her hands are still on the table, her knuckles white. She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling fast. You can see the way her shoulders shake, the way her eyes are wet but she's not crying—not yet.

You're sitting there, your body still buzzing from where she touched you. Your cock is still hard, still aching. But now there's something else in your chest too. Fear? No. Not fear. Something darker.

She's alone. Herschel's gone upstairs.

Hannah finally looks up at you, her eyes searching yours like she's trying to find something there. Something that tells her you won't run. That you're not like the rest of them.

For the first time all day, the house fell silent.

Her hand reaches out again, slower this time. More cautious. She doesn't touch you. She just hovers there, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her skin, close enough that you can smell the floral perfume again.

"You shouldn't have come here," she whispers.

She doesn't say what she means. You know what it is. Herschel would kill you if he found out. He'd kill you both.

But she keeps her hand there. Hovering. Waiting.

And you know what you have to do.