“She’s going to be sore for a few days, but she should be okay. The bruising along her ribs and neck looks superficial.”
I rolled my jaw, wishing that news brought relief. It was good that she didn’t need a hospital, but there was nothing but coldness in my chest.
“Thank you, Anna,” I said, voice rough. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
Anna was a longtime friend of the family. She and my mother had been friends since they were in grade school. She had made many house calls to our home when we were kids. I couldn’t have been more grateful she was willing to help me out when I texted her. She was the kind of person who would drop everything to help someone.
Anna nodded as she took out a notepad and pen from her bag. She began writing furiously as she spoke. “It’s not a problem. You know I’ll always be there for you.”
I nodded, though my mind was caught somewhere back at that library. It was the look on Quinn’s face in the darkness, the sound of her gasping for air and the blood dripping off her chin.
I couldn’t stop replaying it.
The sharp rip of paper snapped my attention back to Anna. She held the note out. “Here,” she said, and I took it. “I wrote down everything that might help. Ibuprofen or acetaminophen for pain. Either will help with inflammation. Diphenhydramine if she can’t sleep. Ice and then a warm compress should help the bruising.”
I stared down at the paper as if it were something written in another language.
She wrote down normal, everyday things, but none of this felt normal. My pulse still hammered, rushing in my ears.
Why was this affecting me so much?
“You did good,” Anna cut in gently when I didn’t reply. Her expression softened as she searched my face as if she could see the storm there. “You kept her calm. That’s what mattered.”
I wasn’t sure that was true. Quinn had barely spoken a word the whole drive here. She’d just stared out the window, silent and trembling.
Anna hesitated before speaking. “Do you know what happened?”
I set my glass down a little too hard. The sound cracked through the stillness.
“Someone attacked her outside the library,” I explained. “I didn’t see who. They were gone by the time I got to her.”
My stomach turned. I didn’t believe in coincidence. Maybe it was because of my past, or maybe it was my experience working with August in the security industry, but this felt planned. The idea that someone had been following her, tracking her habits, waiting for her to be alone—it made my chest thrum with something dangerously close to rage.
Anna was quiet for a moment. “Do you know what happened to her before that?”
I stilled, squaring Anna with a look. “What do you mean?”
“You and I both know she’s dealing with some PTSD.”
My gut roiled again.
Even in the darkness back at that library, the terror on her face had been stark. It wasn’t just fear. It was trauma. She’d been somewhere else. Somewhere from her past. Probably somewhere terrible.
“No,” I finally said, my voice distant. “She’s not—she doesn’t share a lot about herself. I honestly don’t even know her that well.”
I cleared my throat, the guilt bitter on my tongue. For the last couple of weeks, I’d been trying to figure her out. She was wildlyindependent, and ridiculously stubborn. She barely tolerated me as it was.
But I’d thought if I spent time with her, I could watch out for her in what little capacity I was able. To make sure she didn’t bring back any trouble to the bed-and-breakfast.
It shouldn’t surprise me that I had failed miserably.
“I should’ve walked her out. At the very least made sure she got to her car safely.” My hands balled into fists, nails biting into my palms.
“Don’t do that,” Anna said gently. “You can’t blame yourself for what someone else did. This is a small town—no one would’ve expected that to happen.”
I resisted the impulse to argue. I knew better than anyone what could happen in this town. The smallness, the tight-knitted nature of Ember Hollow didn’t make it safe. It made it vulnerable, with a false sense of security.
I stared at the paper she’d given me. It was a simple thing—a list of over-the-counter medication and aftercare instructions. But it was tangible. Something I could focus on and control.
