"We haven't been sitting around painting our nails," Delilah said, her voice tight. "Ivy and Rafe have been researching the Twilight Coven. Mac's coordinating with neighboring towns. I've been trying to scry for the orb."
"And I've been keeping you from becoming wolf jerky," Zelda added, adjusting a poultice that glowed with soft blue light.
Sam pulled his hand from Delilah's grasp. "This is exactly why I work alone. People get hurt when they're around me."
"You got hurt protecting me," Delilah countered. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" He met her eyes, letting his frustration surface. "You were only in danger because we were working together. This partnership was a mistake from the start."
Her expression hardened. "So that's it? One setback and you're done?"
"This isn't a setback. It's a wake-up call." Sam looked away. "You're a distraction I can't afford. A liability."
The word hung between them, sharp and cruel. He saw the moment it struck home—her eyes widening before narrowing to angry slits.
"Fine," she said, standing abruptly. "Heal up and go be a lone wolf. See how far that gets you against whatever was controlling that witch."
She stormed from the room, the door slamming with enough force to make the hanging herbs shudder. Boba Fett and Jango Fett scurried after her, casting judgmental feline glances at Sam. "Idiots," Jango murmured.
Zelda's withering look could have curdled milk. "Well done. Truly masterful emotional intelligence there."
"It's for her own good," Sam muttered.
"Is it?" Zelda adjusted a bundle of sage that had fallen. "Or is it easier than admitting you're scared?"
Sam didn't answer. Around him, the healing herbs briefly rearranged themselves, forming a pattern that matched the theft locations before settling back into place. He stared at the ceiling, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest that was more painful than his wounds.
Sam struggled to his feet, ignoring the sharp protest from his ribs. The room tilted sideways, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. Three steps toward the door. Four. His vision tunneled.
The door swung open just as he reached it, smacking him squarely in the face.
"Son of a—" Sam staggered backward, clutching his nose.
Mac stood in the doorway, arms laden with medical supplies. His eyebrows shot up. "Going somewhere?"
"Out," Sam growled. "There's a witch to catch."
"There's a hospital bed to return to," Mac countered, stepping forward. "Or do you prefer I carry you back like a pup?"
Sam bared his teeth. "I'd like to see you try."
"Challenge accepted." Mac set down the supplies and in one fluid motion swept Sam's legs from under him, catching him before he hit the ground. The movement sent fresh pain lancing through Sam's torso.
"Put. Me. Down."
"With pleasure." Mac deposited him back on the cot with deliberate gentleness that somehow made it more humiliating. "Now stay there before I get Zelda to hex your ass to the mattress."
Sam glared but remained seated, partly from pride and partly because the room wouldn't stop spinning. Mac methodically unpacked the supplies—fresh bandages, glowing poultices, and a thermos that smelled suspiciously like Zelda's healing broth.
"You're an idiot," Mac said conversationally.
"So I've been told."
"No, I mean a special kind of idiot." Mac checked Sam's bandages with practiced efficiency. "The kind who'd rather bleed out alone than admit he needs someone."
Sam winced as Mac applied fresh poultice to the deepest wound. "I don't need anyone."
"Right. And I'm secretly a chihuahua." Mac's fingers probed a particularly tender spot, making Sam hiss. "Sorry. Actually, I'm not sorry. You deserve that for what you said to Delilah."
