"No need to apologise. Take all the time you need."
The past week had been a blur of tests and interviews. Blood draws, internal examinations, photographs of my injuries, hours of questions from doctors, nurses, and Trivium investigators. Everyone wanted a piece of me, a sample, a statement, confirmation that the horrors inflicted on my body matched the clinical expectations of sexual trauma. The constant invasion of my privacy, even when done with clinical detachment and professional kindness, had left me feeling hollowed out, a specimen rather than a person. Visitors had been limited, doctor's orders. Only family and the Regents were allowed in. My grandparents came almost every day, and my grandmother's tears mirrored my own. My grandfather's quiet rage was a tangible force in the room, his weathered hands trembling as he stroked my hair and promised justice. Logan and Cole had established a rotation, one of them always present when Ryder needed a shower or a change of clothes, as if they feared I might disappear again if left unguarded for even a moment. Strangely, James Killingham had visited multiple times. His presence was awkward, formal, his usual cold demeanour cracking to revealsomething like genuine concern. He'd updated me on the investigation, assured me my academic standing was secure, and that I could take as much time as I needed to recover. These messages could have been delivered through others, making his personal appearances puzzling. It was as if he felt personally responsible for my safety now, though I couldn't understand why.
Ryder had barely left my side, sleeping in the uncomfortable chair beside my bed, working on his laptop when I dozed. I'd caught glimpses of what occupied him: police reports, security footage, academic assignments he'd fallen behind on during my absence. His dedication both comforted and confused me. After everything that had happened between us, I should have hated him, feared him. Yet in my most terrified moments, when the nightmares dragged me back to that cold cell, his voice had been my anchor to reality.
A sharp knock at the door shattered my thoughts, sending a jolt of pure fear through my body. My heart rate spiked, my breathing quickened, and my hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. Fight or flight, the doctor had called it, my body's natural response to perceived threats. But there was no fight left in me, only the desperate, animal instinct to hide, to make myself small and invisible. Ryder was at the door in an instant, his body positioning itself between me and whatever threat might lie beyond.
"It's okay," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "I'm right here. No one gets past me." He opened the door cautiously, then widened it with a look of surprise. My fear receded slightly as a familiar figure stepped into the room, tall, with dark hair and deep, dark eyes that softened as they landed on me.
"Bass?" I whispered, momentarily forgetting my fear in my shock at seeing him after so many years.
Sebastian Lynch, Bass, as I'd called him since I was a teenager, stood in the doorway, a warm smile transforming his usually stern features.
"Hey, Kid. Heard you were busting out of this joint today." The nickname, which had once annoyed me to no end, now filled me with an unexpected warmth. Bass had been a fixture in my life throughout my teenage years, appearing at our house for mysterious day trips with my grandfather before staying for dinner. He'd treated me like a younger sister, teasing me mercilessly but always with underlying affection. Then, about five years ago, he'd vanished from our lives after an explosive argument with my grandfather that I'd only partially overheard, something about betraying trust and making calls that weren't his to make.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, genuinely confused but oddly comforted by his presence. Bass stepped fully into the room, his gaze briefly connecting with Ryder's in what seemed like silent communication. Ryder's continued surprise at our familiarity was evident in his raised eyebrows and the questioning glance he shot me.
"Wanted to see you before you left," Bass said, approaching the bed with casual confidence. "Make sure you're being taken care of properly." I felt a smile tugging at my lips, possibly the first genuine one since my rescue.
"You know my grandfather would never allow anything less."
"Damn right," Bass agreed with a chuckle. "Bruce would tear down the hospital brick by brick if he thought you weren't getting the best care." The mention of my grandfather brought a pang of emotion. He'd been so broken when he first saw me, his strong façade crumbling as he took in my injuries. I'd never seen him cry before that day.
"I didn't realise you two knew each other," Ryder said, his tone carefully neutral as he gestured between Bass and me. Bass raised an eyebrow.
"I've known this one since she was a snarky teenager with an attitude problem and a crush on me."
"I did not have a crush on you," I protested automatically, the familiar banter momentarily transporting me back to a simpler time.
Then reality crashed back, and the brief lightness evaporated.
"How do you know Ryder?" Bass's expression grew more serious.
"I've been put in charge of your security now that you're being discharged. Been working with the guys for the last week or so, ever since your granddad called me in."
“Why would he call you?” I asked. As far as I was aware, they hadn’t spoken in years. I had already heard about the fake text messages that had ensured my grandparents had no idea of my disappearance.
“Because I run a security company, as well as being part of the Trivium.” The revelation stunned me.
"You're part of the Trivium? Since when?"
"For a while now," Bass replied, exchanging another glance with Ryder. "I'm the one who identified the location where you were being held."
This information hit me like a physical blow. Bass, whom I'd known for years as my grandfather's mysterious friend, was not only part of the secret society that controlled Regents University but had been instrumental in my rescue. The world tilted slightly, my perception of reality shifting once again.
"I don't understand," I said, my voice small and confused. "How did you know where I was?"
Bass moved closer, his expression grave. "When I heard about McIntyre, I recognised his name. It made me think of the location. Ivory Crest Manor has... history. Dark history that I'm unfortunately familiar with." He paused, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "When I put together who had taken you and the connections involved, I knew exactly where to look."
Ryder had resumed packing my things, but I could tell he was listening intently to every word. The tension in his shoulders betrayed his unease at this conversation.
"I've given statements," I said, trying to make sense of this new development. "To the Trivium investigators. And the doctors say my wounds are healing well." I swallowed hard, forcing myself to continue. "The STD tests and pregnancy test came back negative, thank God, but they want to do more testing in six weeks to be sure." Bass nodded, his expression softening with sympathy.
"I'm well aware of the procedures, Kid. Lily had to go through the same thing."
"Lily?" I latched onto this new information. "Is that your wife's name? I heard you got married." A small, genuine smile crossed his face.
"Yeah. You'd like her, I think. She would probably understand what you're going through, in ways most people can't." The implication behind his words sent a chill through me.
