“Tell me about the person,” he says through gritted teeth. “The one who got the supplies.”
I move to the exit wound, larger and messier. “Her name is Janet. She counted the money twice, told me if she wanted to steal fifty dollars, she’d pick a better target.”
“Smart woman.”
“She reminded me of my graduate adviser. Same look in her eyes—like she’d seen everything and wasn’t impressed by most of it.” The antiseptic burns through the wound, andCooper’s breath hisses between his teeth. “Sorry. Almost done with this part.”
“Keep talking.”
“She said to remember this the next time someone tells me people like her can’t be trusted.” Clean gauze replaces the blood-soaked fabric Cooper had pressed against the wound. “I think she was making a point about assumptions.”
“What kind of assumptions?”
“That homeless means hopeless. That desperation equals dishonesty. That people who have nothing are more likely to take what little you have.” I tape the gauze securely, covering both entry and exit wounds with sterile padding. “Academic prejudices, I guess.”
“Not academic. Human.” He pauses, studying my face. “Did you tell her that? About believing in humanity?”
“No, she had this look when she counted the money—like she was deciding whether I was worth the risk.” I adjust the tape, ensuring the bandage will stay in place. “There was a moment where I thought she might just walk away with the fifty dollars. Not because she’s dishonest, but because why should she trust me? I’m some random woman who shows up asking for help, offering money that could be fake or part of some scam.”
“But she didn’t walk away.”
“She didn’t walk away. And when she came back, she brought extra gauze. Said she figured we might need it.” I move to examine the head wound, dabbing away dried blood with clean gauze. “That’s not doing a job for money. That’s caring about the outcome.”
The ribs require less work—a shallow graze that looks worse than it is. I clean it quickly, apply antiseptic that makes Cooper curse under his breath, then cover it with gauze and tape.
“How do you feel?” I ask, sitting back on my heels.
“Like I got shot.”
“But alive?”
“Alive.”
I hand him two ibuprofen and a water bottle. “For the pain and inflammation.”
He swallows the pills without question, drains half the bottle. Color starts returning to his cheeks, and his breathing deepens.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“Thank that woman. She’s the one who took the risk.”
“Thank you for trusting her.”
The words hit harder than expected. Trust isn’t something that comes easily to either of us—him because of his training, me because of academic competition and professional betrayals. But today I trusted a stranger with Cooper’s life, and she proved worthy of that trust.
“I had to,” I say. “The alternative was watching you bleed out.”
“Still. You did good.”
The praise warms me more than it should. Cooper doesn’t give compliments lightly, and hearing approval in his voice makes something tight in my chest finally loosen.
SEVENTEEN
Cooper
VULNERABILITY
The silence stretchesbetween us after our realization that Phoenix is becoming part of the system itself. The extraction timeframe feels both too long and not nearly enough—too long to stay hidden from Phoenix’s expanding search, not nearly enough time to stop whatever is happening.
