Then I climbed back up to the studio where Gage waited.
I made it three steps inside before the adrenaline crashed.
My legs gave out.
He caught me before I hit the floor, pulled me against his chest, and I broke.
The tears came hard. Fear I'd been shoving down all night—all week—finally breaking through. I sobbed into his uniform shirt while his arms locked around me.
"I've got you," he murmured. "You're safe now. I've got you."
"I was so scared." The words tore out of me. "When I heard him on the stairs, when he was throwing himself at the door—God, Gage, what if—"
"But it didn't." He pulled back enough to cup my face, thumbs wiping away tears. "You saved yourself—had pepper spray ready, locked that door, kept students safe. I was backup, not savior. So damn proud of you."
"He kept screaming that I belonged to him." My voice cracked. "That I performed for him."
"He's sick. Delusional and off his meds, probably high on top of it." Gage's expression went hard. "Dell's taking him to county lockup tonight. The judge will order psychiatric evaluation tomorrow. Warren's going to a state facility for a long time. I'll make sure of it."
"Promise?"
"I promise." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. Gentle. "Between the camera footage, tonight's break-in, and his probation violations, he's done. You're safe."
I nodded, trying to believe it.
"I kept thinking about what you said yesterday," I whispered. "That I'm strong enough to defend myself AND accept your care. That they're not opposites."
"They're not." His voice roughened. "You proved that tonight. Defended yourself and your students. And you let me back you up when it mattered."
"I don't need you to save me." I met his eyes. "But I need you with me. There's a difference."
"Yeah." A small, real smile crossed his face. "There is."
We stood there in the quiet studio, both trying to catch our breath. Outside, more red and blue lights flickered—additional deputies arriving to process the scene, document the break-in, take statements.
"It's over," Gage said eventually.
"Yeah." I touched his face, felt stubble rough against my palm. "It is."
"Let's get you out of here." He scanned the studio one last time. "Dell will handle processing."
I nodded. Grabbed my bag. Took one last look at the chrome poles gleaming under overhead lights, the mirrors reflecting everything I'd built.
Gage took my hand, and we walked down the stairs together.
Outside, the cold slapped us. I shivered, and he pulled me against his side.
"Come stay with me tonight," he said quietly. "Don't want you alone after this."
I thought about arguing. Proving I could handle it.
But accepting care when it was offered freely—that was what mattered now.
"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."
His arm tightened around me as we walked to our vehicles. "Follow me home."
Home. I'd spent two years building walls, creating spaces that were mine and mine alone. But standing there with his arm around me, I realized home didn't have to be a place I defended. It could be a person I trusted.
