The first crack of thunder made the windows of Liam's apartment rattle. Emma stood by the glass, watching sheets of rain transform Pine Lake into a churning cauldron of white-capped waves. Lightning flashed, momentarily turning night to day, illuminating the deserted docks below and the trees bending under the storm's assault.

She jumped slightly at a particularly loud thunderclap, then felt a presence behind her. Liam approached with several candles already lit, their flames casting dancing shadows across his features.

"Power's likely to go," he said, setting the candles on the coffee table. "Always does during the big summer storms."

As if on cue, the lights flickered once, twice, and then plunged the apartment into darkness, leaving only the golden glow of candlelight and occasional flashes of lightning to illuminate the space.

"Good timing," Emma said, moving away from the window to join him in the living room.

Liam's expression was carefully neutral, but Emma noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes darted to the windows with each thunderous boom. He caught her watching him and offered a self-deprecating smile.

"Still not great with storms," he admitted. "Too similar to other sounds."

Understanding dawned. "From Afghanistan?"

He nodded, settling onto the couch and gesturing for her to join him. "Weird, isn't it? I can handle a medical emergency without blinking, run a busy bar on a holiday weekend, deal with drunk tourists... but a good thunderstorm still puts me on edge."

Emma sat beside him, tucking her feet beneath her. "I don't think it's weird at all. We don't get to choose what triggers us."

Lightning flashed again, followed almost immediately by a crash that seemed to shake the building. Liam's hand tightened on the couch cushion, then deliberately relaxed.

"Were you afraid of storms as a kid?" Emma asked, trying to ease him into conversation, to provide distraction from the chaos outside.

"No," Liam said, a hint of a smile forming. "I used to sneak out to the dock to watch them. Drove my mother crazy—she was sure I'd get struck by lightning." His eyes met hers. "You?"

Emma held up her right hand, showing a small, jagged scar at the base of her thumb. "Terrified. When I was seven, I was so scared during a storm that I broke a glass while hiding under the dining room table. Cut myself pretty good."

Without thinking, Liam reached for her hand, his thumb gently tracing the faded scar. The simple touch sent warmth spreading up Emma's arm.

"First scar?" he asked.

"First memorable one," she confirmed. "You?"

Liam pushed up his left sleeve, revealing a thin white line about three inches long on his forearm. "Nine years old. Fell out of the big pine tree behind the bar. Dad told me not to climb it without him. Naturally, I waited until he was busy with the lunch rush."

Emma traced the line with her fingertip, feeling the slight ridge where the skin had healed. "Stitches?"

"Seven. Dad was furious—half because I'd disobeyed, half because he'd been so scared." Liam's voice softened at the memory. "He waited until the doctor finished stitching me up before he hugged me so hard I couldn't breathe. Then he grounded me for a month."

The image of a young, adventurous Liam contrasted with the controlled man before her, making Emma smile. Outside, the storm continued its assault, but the tension in the room had shifted, creating a bubble of intimacy in the candlelit darkness.

"Your turn," Liam said, eyes meeting hers with quiet challenge.

Emma hesitated only briefly before turning her ankle to show a small, round scar on her outer calf. "Cigarette burn. Not mine—Kevin Marsh, eighth grade. He had a crush on me, and apparently burning the girls you like was his way of showing affection."

"Sounds like a future serial killer," Liam observed dryly.

"Last I heard, he was an accountant in Grand Rapids," Emma laughed. "But I did kick him in the shin hard enough to leave a bruise, so maybe I discouraged his budding criminal career."

The apartment lit up with another lightning flash, and Liam's eyes were drawn to the window. This time, though, his reaction seemed less intense, his body remaining relaxed beside her on the couch.

"Your turn," Emma prompted gently.

Liam was quiet for a moment, then reached for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it to reveal a jagged scar along his ribs—one Emma had noticed before but never asked about. In the candlelight, the raised tissue looked almost golden against his skin.

"Kabul," he said simply. "2011. We were clearing a building, and I went through a doorway at the wrong moment." His fingers traced the scar's path. "Shrapnel. I was lucky—it missed anything vital."

Emma found herself reaching out, her fingers hovering just above his skin, seeking permission with her eyes. At his slight nod, she allowed her touch to follow the path of the scar, feeling the uneven texture beneath her fingertips.

"The soldier behind me wasn't as lucky," Liam continued, his voice low. "I dragged him out, patched him up as best I could under fire. He lived, but lost his right leg below the knee."

"You saved his life," Emma said softly.

Liam's expression was complicated—pride and pain mingled. "He sent me a picture last year. Him with his wife and new baby girl. Named her Lia." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Said it was as close to Liam as his wife would let him get."

The thunder seemed more distant now, the storm moving across the lake, but neither made a move to break the intimate bubble they'd created. Instead, Emma gently pulled down his shirt and then turned slightly, moving her hair aside to reveal a small, neat scar at the back of her neck, just below her hairline.

"Appendectomy," she said. "First year of nursing school. The irony of being the patient instead of the caregiver wasn't lost on me."

Liam's fingers brushed the spot, his touch achingly gentle. "Must have been scary, being on the other side."

"It was," Emma admitted. "But also educational. Made me a better nurse, understanding what it feels like to be vulnerable, in pain, trusting strangers with your body."

A particularly loud thunderclap, closer than the others had been, made Liam tense visibly. His hand froze against her skin, his entire body going rigid for a moment before he forced himself to relax.

"Sorry," he murmured, pulling his hand back.

Emma recognized the reaction—the hypervigilance, the instinctive response to perceived threat. She'd seen it in ER patients, veterans like Liam who carried invisible wounds from their service.

"Some scars aren't visible, are they?" she asked quietly.

Liam met her eyes, something vulnerable and grateful in his expression at her understanding. "No," he agreed. "Those are usually the ones that take longest to heal."

"I still can't handle raised voices," Emma confessed, offering her own invisible scar in exchange. "In the ER, it was different—the shouting had purpose, was about saving lives. But at home..." She swallowed hard. "Jake would raise his voice over nothing. A misplaced remote. Dinner running late. I never knew when the shouting would turn into something else."

"So you learned to be hyperaware," Liam said, understanding immediately. "To read the signs, track the moods, try to head off the explosion."

Emma nodded, surprised by how accurately he'd described it. "I still catch myself doing it sometimes. Checking exits in rooms. Monitoring people's tone changes. Preparing for the worst."

"Survival mechanisms," Liam said. "They keep us alive when we need them. The trick is learning to dial them back when we're safe."

Another flash of lightning, another rumble of thunder, but more distant now. The worst of the storm had passed, leaving steady rain in its wake.

"What about nightmares?" Emma asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It was something she hadn't told anyone—not even Dana—about her time with Jake. "Do you get those?"

"Yes," Liam admitted, no shame in his voice, just simple honesty. "Less often now than when I first got back. But they still come, especially if something triggers memories during the day."

"What helps?"

Liam was quiet for a moment, considering. "Routine. Physical exercise. Being near water." His eyes met hers. "Talking about it, though I don't do that often."

"Me neither," Emma said. "It's hard to find people who understand without..."

"Without looking at you differently afterward," Liam finished for her.

"Exactly."

A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the steadier rhythm of rain against the windows and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. The candles had burned lower, casting everything in a softer glow.

"Can I..." Liam hesitated, seeming to search for words. "Would you show me your other scars? The ones from him?"

The request was so quiet, so gentle, that Emma felt no fear, only a strange relief at the thought of being truly seen. She nodded slowly and turned slightly, pulling aside the collar of her shirt to reveal a small, curved scar on her shoulder.

"The stove," she said simply. "He pushed me against it during an argument. It was hot."

Liam's eyes darkened with something that wasn't pity—it was a controlled anger on her behalf, tempered by deep respect for her strength. His fingers reached out, hesitating just above the mark.

"May I?" he asked.

At her nod, his fingertips traced the outline of the scar with such tenderness that Emma felt tears prick at her eyes. There was something profoundly intimate about the gesture—more intimate than any passionate embrace could have been. He was witnessing her pain, acknowledging it without letting it define her.

When he'd finished, she met his eyes. "Your turn," she said softly.

Without hesitation, Liam turned, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his back. In the candlelight, Emma could see multiple scars—some surgical, precisely placed; others jagged and cruel, the kind that come from violence.

"The worst ones are from the IED that ended my last tour," he explained, his voice steady. "The smaller ones... different stories, different missions. Some I remember clearly, others I was too drugged up at the time to recall getting."

Emma moved closer, allowing her hands to trace each mark, giving each the same careful attention he had shown her. She felt the muscles of his back tense then gradually relax under her touch, surrendering to the vulnerability of being seen so completely.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for showing me."

"Thank you for seeing," he replied, turning back to face her.

They sat in silence for a moment, the storm now just a gentle rain pattering against the windows. Liam reached for a blanket folded over the back of the couch and wrapped it around both their shoulders, drawing her against his side. The weight of his arm around her felt like protection without possession—safety without constraint.

"I feel safer with you during a storm," Emma said suddenly, the realization hitting her with perfect clarity, "than I ever felt with Jake on the calmest day."

Liam's arm tightened slightly around her, his cheek coming to rest against her hair. "Some scars fade," he said quietly. "Some don't. But maybe they all hurt less when someone else knows they're there."

Emma closed her eyes, leaning into his solid warmth as the candles flickered and the rain continued its gentle rhythm against the windows. Outside, the storm had passed, leaving the world washed clean. Inside, something new had taken root—a connection forged through shared vulnerability, through scars both seen and unseen.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Emma felt not just physically safe, but emotionally secure. Here, in this candlelit apartment above a lakeside bar, with this man who understood darkness but chose light, she had found something she hadn't been looking for but desperately needed.

Not a rescuer. Not a savior.

A witness. Someone who could see all of her—scars and all—and still look at her with eyes full of admiration and growing affection.

Outside, the final rumbles of thunder faded into silence, leaving only the gentle aftermath of the storm.