Barron’s jaw ticked, his arms crossed tighter.
Still, he didn’t interrupt.
The doctor hesitated. “There’s evidence of... repeated impact. Systemic trauma. We’ll need to run a scan?—”
“She conscious?” Barron asked.
A beat.
“In and out.”
“When she’s in—does she scream?”
The doctor flinched. Just a flicker.
“No. She... she doesn’t speak. But she…hummed.”
That part hit harder than anything else. The fractures were flesh. But this? This was soul-deep. She wasn’t mute from shock. She was holding something. Or trying not to lose it.
She didn't scream. Screaming was a gift. They didn't want answers. They wanted a message. They didn’t take the book. They took her silence. And for that? There would be consequences.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. I stepped closer to the bed, slow enough that my coat whispered across the floor. Her hair was plastered to her cheek. A smear of dried blood at her temple. Her lip was cracked, split open like it had been chewed.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stir.
Just lay there, wrapped in my hoodie. Breathing like it cost her something she didn’t have left to give.
I didn’t touch her. Not yet. Touch would make it real. Touch would be too much. I stood at the foot of the bed and made a list. Not of names. Not of men. But of methods. Of bones that would break. Eyes that would never open again. Of the sound their kneecaps would make when they fell to the floor begging me for a mercy I’d never show them.
She gave them nothing. Not a name. Not a scream. Not a goddamn breath. So now? They would lose everything.
The room was dark now. No voices. No footsteps. No questions. Just machines. The monitors hummed low—too low. Her breathing stuttered between shallow pulls, each one like it had to claw its way out of her.
Barron had left an hour ago. Royal never came. Loyal didn’t knock. He didn’t have to. When the door opened, he was already inside—like he’d always been here. Sitting in the corner. One leg crossed over the other, arms folded. Silent. There was no lamp on his side of the room. No flicker of movement. Just shadow. Just him.
I didn’t speak to him. He didn’t speak to me. He knew why he was here. I stood at the foot of the bed, hands in my pockets, head slightly bowed—not in reverence.
In restraint.
The girl who once looked at me like I was both damnation and sanctuary lay there in a bloodstained hoodie, her fingers twitching through dreams I couldn’t reach.
She moved once in her sleep. A flick of her ankle. A twitch in her hand. Her mouth parted. A sound caught there—but didn’t escape.
I didn’t reach for her. Didn’t brush the hair from her cheek. Didn’t kiss her temple like I used to in the moments between pain and surrender. I just stood there. Watched her. Breathed with her. Felt the war curling back through my ribs like it never left. This wasn’t forgiveness. This was possession. She gave them blood. And I? I left her with Loyal.
He was already watching. Already waiting. His nod was enough. He wouldn’t leave. Not until she woke. And even then—only if I told him to.
I parked three blocks from the apartment. The city didn’t look the same anymore. The alleys were quieter. The streetlights more distant. Everything I touched tonight felt like it had already died.
I didn’t hesitate. Just walked down the stairs, past the cold hum of the dryer still spinning in the corner, into the basement where she made her decision.
The panel in the wall was exactly where she said it would be. Cracked at the edge. Sealed, but rushed. Like regret had tried to cover its tracks.
I peeled it open with two fingers. There it was. Black cotton. Familiar weight. Still faintly warm. She hadn’t just hidden it. She’d buried it. Inside something that used to belong to me.Inside something I gave her the night she told me the dark didn’t scare her—only the silence after.
I unwrapped the bundle slowly.
The shirt folded tight around the ledger, like a body wrapped for burial. I pulled it free. The cover was smooth. Unopened since she took it.
