"It's okay," he murmured. "No one gets in here without going through security. The Trivium has the entire floor locked down." A nurse poked her head in, her expression professional but kind.
"Miss Turner? Glad to see you awake.” She moved around my bed with practiced efficiency, being careful not to touch me as she noted vitals showing on the screens. “You have visitors in the waiting room. Are you feeling up to seeing them?" Panic fluttered in my chest. Visitors? Who? What if it was Damien? What if he'd come to take me back? Ryder seemed to sense my thoughts.
"It's okay," he repeated, his voice steady. "I'm right here. I won't let anyone hurt you." I swallowed hard, trying to force down the fear. I had to start somewhere if I was ever going tofeel normal again, though I was a long way off from that. I gave a small nod, my hand tightening around Ryder's.
The nurse smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her. It opened again almost straightaway. James Killingham entered first, his tall frame and austere features immediately recognisable even through my fear-clouded vision. His expression seemed to relax as his eyes landed on me, like he had actually been worried about me. But it was the person who followed him that made my heart stutter in my chest.
My grandfather. He looked older than I remembered, deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth, his usually neat silver hair dishevelled as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His eyes, so like my own, were bloodshot and shadowed with exhaustion. But they lit up when they saw me, filling with a mixture of relief and anguish that mirrored my own emotions.
"Granddad," I whispered, my voice breaking on the word. He was across the room in an instant, moving with a speed that belied his age.
"My girl," he choked out, reaching for me with trembling hands. "My brave, beautiful girl." I collapsed into his embrace, fresh tears streaming down my face as his familiar scent enveloped me. He held me gently, as if afraid I might shatter, his large hand cradling the back of my head the way he had when I was a child waking from nightmares or when I felt the loneliness of my mother leaving..
"I'm sorry," I sobbed against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
"Shh," he soothed, his voice rough with emotion. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my darling. Nothing at all."
"I should have been more careful. I shouldn't have left alone. I should have-"
"No," my grandfather said firmly, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. His gaze was fierce, burning with a protective anger I'd never seen before. "This was not your fault. None of this was your fault. The only people to blame are the bastards who took you, who hurt you. And I swear to you, Cadence, I will find them all, and I will make them pay for every mark on your body, for every tear you've shed. They will rue the day they ever laid hands on my granddaughter."
The vehemence in his voice startled me. My grandfather had always been gentle, steady, the calm centre of our small family. This burning rage was new, frightening in its intensity. Yet it was also comforting in a strange way to know that someone cared that much, that someone was willing to move heaven and earth to avenge what had been done to me.
"I thought I'd never see you again," I admitted, my voice small. "I thought I was going to die in that place." His arms tightened around me, careful of my injuries but fierce in their protectiveness.
"Never," he whispered fiercely. "I would have torn this country apart brick by brick to find you." Over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Killingham and Ryder exchanging a look, something significant passing between them that I couldn't quite interpret. Ryder's expression had shifted, becoming more guarded, more watchful as he observed my grandfather.
"Your grandmother wanted to come," my grandfather continued, drawing my attention back to him. "But the doctors thought it might be too much all at once. She's at the hotel nearby, waiting. She hasn't slept properly since we found out that you disappeared; none of us have." Guilt twisted in my stomach at the thought of what my disappearance must have done to them.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," I said, wiping at my tears with a shaking hand. "I never wanted to worry you."
"Cadence Turner," my grandfather said, his tone stern despite the tears in his eyes. "You stop that right now. The only people who need to be sorry are the ones who took you." His expression softened as he brushed a strand of hair from my face. "We're just grateful to have you back. Everything else, the how and the why and the what happens next, all of that can wait. Right now, the only thing that matters is that you're alive and safe."
Safe. The word echoed in my mind, hollow and uncertain. Would I ever feel safe again? Could I ever wash away the memory of those hands on my body, those voices in my ear, that pain between my legs? As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, my grandfather took my hands in his, his weathered palms warm against my cold fingers.
"It will take time," he said gently. "And it won't be easy. But you will heal from this, Cadence. You will find your way back to yourself. And we will be with you every step of the way." I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I wanted desperately to believe him, to believe that there was a path forward from this darkness, but it felt impossible in this moment, with the nightmare still so fresh, the pain still so raw.
"Mr Turner," Killingham said, stepping forward slightly. "Perhaps we should let Miss Turner rest. The doctor mentioned she'll need to conserve her strength for her recovery." My grandfather nodded reluctantly, his eyes never leaving my face.
"Of course." He squeezed my hands gently. "I'll be right outside if you need me, darling. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?" I whispered, hating how childish I sounded, but unable to help the fear that gripped me at the thought of being alone.
"I promise," he said firmly. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away." He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead before stepping back, his eyes suspiciously bright. Killingham moved to the door, holding it open for him, but my grandfather paused, turning back to look at Ryder, who still stood at the foot of my bed.
"Thank you," he said simply, his voice rough with emotion. "For finding her. For bringing her home." Ryder nodded, something complex and unreadable passing across his face. "We would never have stopped looking," he said quietly. My grandfather held his gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them, before he turned and walked out of the room. Killingham hovered by the door, an uncertain look on his face. Finally, he met my eyes, and I swore I could see unshed tears there.
“Just so you know, Miss Turner,” he said, a fierce tone to his words. “I will do everything in my power to make sure that whoever was involved in this will see the harsh side of the Trivium.” I opened my mouth to respond, but I wasn’t sure what to say. He nodded quickly, “I am glad you are back safe.” He then turned and left the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with Ryder once more.
The adrenaline that had sustained me through the emotional reunions was fading fast, leaving exhaustion in its wake. My body felt heavy, weighed down by pain and fatigue. Every breath sent sharp twinges through my ribs, and the dull throbbing between my legs was a constant reminder of what had been done to me.
"You should rest," Ryder said, noticing my drooping eyelids. "You're safe here, Poison. I promise." Fear spiked through me at the thought of closing my eyes, of being vulnerable to the nightmares I knew were waiting.
"I can't," I whispered. "I'm afraid to sleep. I'm afraid I'll wake up back there." Understanding dawned in Ryder's eyes. Without a word, he moved to the chair beside my bed and sat down, reaching for my hand.
"Then I'll stay right here," he said simply. "And when you wake up, you'll see me, and you'll know you're safe." Gratitude washed over me, mixed with a poignant sadness. This gentle, protective Ryder was so far removed from the manipulative, obsessive man who had drugged my hot chocolate and touched me while I slept. The one who had begged me to forgive him in the psych ward of the hospital. Yet they were the same person, complex and contradictory, capable of both cruelty and kindness.
"Thank you," I murmured, my eyelids growing heavier by the second. Ryder's hand tightened around mine.
