The ground tilts. Or maybe I tilt. Hard to tell when the world has suddenly shifted on its axis.
Holden's hand catches my elbow, steadying me before I consciously register the need for support. His grip is firm, grounding, the only solid thing in a reality that just became a nightmare.
"Don't touch anything." His voice is calm, controlled, already pulling out his phone with his free hand. "Crime scene protocol. Hartwell needs to see this."
Crime scene. Right. Because someone caught a fish—pulled it from the ocean I study, killed it, arranged it with seaweed and sand—put it on my car, left a death threat in broad daylight where anyone could have seen them.
Someone knows what I study. Knows my work with coastal erosion. Knows about marine biology and ocean vulnerabilities and exactly how to twist that knowledge into psychological warfare designed to break me.
"He's here." The words scrape out of my throat, raw and sharp. "Bruce is here. He found me."
"We don't know that yet." Holden keeps his hand on my elbow, warm and steady against skin that's gone cold. "Could be Bruce. Could be someone who wants your research. Either way, they're escalating."
Escalating. Professional term for someone promising to kill me with increasing specificity.
The fish is an Atlantic croaker. Adult specimen, common in the Chesapeake Bay where I do my research. Whoever did this caught it locally. Killed it specifically for this message. Specifically to connect my work with death and disappearance.
That I study the ocean and its power to destroy.
That erosion takes everything eventually.
My work is about understanding the ocean. Predicting erosion. Protecting coastal infrastructure so bases don't crumble into the sea. I grew up on research boats with my marine biologist mother, learning to read tide pools and ecosystems before I could read chapter books.
Someone turned my life's work into a threat. Turned my expertise into a weapon.
Fury burns through the fear, hot and bitter and exhausting.
"I'm tired." The admission breaks loose before I can stop it. "I changed my name. Moved across the country. Started over. And someone still found me. Still wants to hurt me. When does it stop?"
"When we catch them." Holden turns me away from the car, away from the dead fish and the ocean water and the promise of violence. His hands frame my shoulders, gentle but firm, blocking my view of the grotesque display. "And we will catch them."
"You keep saying that. But what if you can't? What if this never stops?"
"It will stop. We will stop him one way or another." The words are simple, direct, carrying a weight that makes my throat tight. "Whoever did this made a mistake."
"What mistake?" The question comes out sharper than intended.
"They think threats will break you." His gray eyes hold mine, steady and certain in a way that feels like an anchor. "They don't know who they're dealing with."
The certainty in his voice cracks something inside me. The careful control I've been maintaining for days, for months, for years since Bruce made my life hell and taught me that showing weakness meant giving someone power to destroy you.
Exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. Bone-deep tiredness that has everything to do with being hunted, with being strong, with handling everything alone.
"I don't feel strong. I feel tired. And scared. And so damn angry that someone gets to do this to me."
"You're allowed to be all of those things." Holden's voice is gentle in a way that destroys what's left of my composure. "Being strong doesn't mean never breaking. It means breaking and putting yourself back together anyway."
The tears come before I can stop them. Silent at first, then harder, shaking my shoulders as everything I've been holding back breaks loose.
Holden pulls me against his chest without asking permission. One arm wraps around my back, solid and warm. The other hand cups the back of my head, tucking me into him like he can shield me from everything trying to hurt me.
"I've got you." His voice rumbles against my cheek, the vibration settling deep. "You're safe. I've got you."
True and exactly what I need to hear.
I should pull away. Should maintain distance, keep this professional, remember that Holden is protection not comfort.
But his heartbeat is steady under my ear, a rhythm that feels like safety. His arms are solid and warm. Nothing about this feels like confinement.
