The ropes fall away and she slumps forward into my arms.
I catch her, pulling her against my chest, one hand pressing against the wound on her throat.
It's shallow.
Shallow enough. Not deep enough to hit the artery.
She's okay. She has to be okay.
"RJ." Her voice is barely a whisper, rough with tears and blood and fear. "The baby?—"
"I know." I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in. Alive. She's alive. They're both alive. "I found the test. In your bag. I know."
"I was going to tell you tonight." She's crying now, tears cutting tracks through the blood on her face. "I was going to make it special. I had this whole plan?—"
"Shh." I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. "It doesn't matter. None of that matters. You're alive. That's all that matters."
The gunfire has stopped.
The room is silent except for the groans of wounded men and the drip of blood on hardwood.
I look up to see Runes standing over Solveig's body, staring down at the woman who tried to destroy his family.
His face is unreadable.
"Dalla." He crosses the room in three strides, dropping to his knees beside us.
His hands hover over her, wanting to touch but afraid to hurt. "Baby girl. Are you?—"
"I'm okay, Daddy." She reaches for him with one bloody hand, and he takes it, squeezing tight. "I'm okay. RJ got me out."
Runes looks at me.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other—two men who've spent weeks circling each other, sizing each other up, neither willing to give ground.
Then he nods.
"You saved her life," he says quietly. "You saved both their lives."
"I did what anyone would do."
"No." He shakes his head slowly. "You did what family does." He reaches out and grips my shoulder, hard enough to bruise. "You're one of us now. Officially. Whatever you need, whatever you want—it's yours."
The words hit me harder than I expected.
This man—this fierce, protective, terrifying man—just accepted me into his family.
Not as a bodyguard, not as a temporary fixture, but as something permanent. Something real.
"Thank you," I manage.
"Don't thank me. Just take care of my daughter." He looks down at Dalla, and his expression softens. "Both of them."
"Always."
Tor appears at the edge of my vision, his face spattered with blood that isn't his.
His eyes are distant, haunted—the confrontation with Solveig clearly stirred up memories he'd rather forget.
