I swallowed, tried to find my voice. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
He shrugged, the movement so small I almost missed it. “It never is.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, stared at the ground. “They wanted me to open the file system. Not just the project code, but the fallback triggers. The self-repair routines. They brought printouts, diagrams, and translation software. One of them had a degree. Maybe more than one.”
He listened without interrupting, but his eyes never left my face.
“They used restraints. Not the zip-tie kind. The real kind. Metal. They taped my wrists to a pipe. When I wouldn’t talk, they put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger empty. Four times.”
Nitro’s jaw clenched so hard I could hear the teeth grind.
I forced myself to keep going. If I didn’t, I’d never be able to say it. “They told me I had one hour to crack my own work, or they’d start by taking fingers. I believed them. I…” My voice faltered, but I pressed on. “I started talking. At first, I fed them garbage, old protocols, dead-end branches. They weren’t dumb, though. Every time I stalled, they got angrier. I thought if I gave them something, anything, they’d relax. Instead, they just—” I stopped, unable to finish the thought.
He closed the gap between us in two steps, but didn’t touch me. “You survived.”
“I shouldn’t have,” I said. “I should have let them pull the trigger. Or at least held out until someone got there.”
He shook his head. “They’d have shot you, then moved on to the next target. You made the right call.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did.
The silence grew heavy, then heavier.
“I kept thinking about you,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could edit or soften them. “Not just that you’d find me. I was sure you wouldn’t. But I kept thinking, this is it, this is the last thing he’ll remember about me, some video clip of my face splattered on a wall.”
He looked away, the scar on his jaw twitching.
I laughed, a thin, pathetic sound. “I guess I’m not very brave.”
He moved then, sat beside me on the bed, close enough for our legs to touch. He reached up, brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His hand was rough, bandaged with the memory of what it had just done.
“You’re the bravest person I know,” he said. “You just don’t believe it yet.”
I bit my lip, tasted blood.
He let his arm settle around my shoulder, loose, not pinning me but not letting me drift either. I was really in the arms of an angel.
I wanted to say thank you, or I’m sorry, or anything that would mark the moment. But nothing seemed true enough, so I let the silence have its way.
Heavy boots echoed in the hallway, the sound out of time with the usual clubhouse chaos. Nitro tensed, all the ease gone from his frame. I caught his mood instantly, the way he straightened his back, the way his left hand hovered at his thigh as if expecting a gun. Old habits, unkillable.
The door opened a crack. Damron’s silhouette filled it, broad and unmistakable, the overhead fluorescents cutting his face into sharp black and white.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, voice flat and official. “But we’ve got a problem.”
Nitro stood. I followed, nerves raw all over again.
Damron stepped into the room, boots clicking on the concrete. He didn’t waste time. “The cops have put out a warrant. Not for you, Doc.” He looked at Nitro. “For you. Assault with intent, possible homicide. They’ve got you on camera, brother—clear as day, walking out with her.”
Nitro didn’t blink. “So what?”
“So,” Damron said, “they’re coming here within the hour. And if you’re still on the premises, the Feds will roll us all up. Not just you.”
I glanced at Nitro. “What about me?”
Damron shrugged. “You’re a civilian. And a victim. They’ll want a statement, but unless you’re carrying a kilo of coke, you walk.”
I felt the old ache in my chest, the certainty that the universe was a system designed to punish any deviation from the expected outcome.
