And that terrifies me more than any gunfight ever could.
I reach for my shirt, needing distance before I do something that will ruin both of us.
“Thank you,” I manage, rougher than I mean to.
She stops me with a hand on my wrist. Points at the shirt—bloody, ruined. Then disappears down the hall and returns with a clean black T-shirt from the closet.
“Thanks.”
She watches me pull it on, something unreadable in her expression. When I’m dressed, she starts cleaning up the medical supplies. Silent. Efficient.
Then she retreats to the far corner of the living room, sliding down the wall until she’s sitting with her knees pulled to her chest. Arms wrapped around her legs. Making herself as small as possible.
I give her space. Clean up the kitchen. Check the windows. Inventory weapons. Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen.
She hasn’t moved. Just sits there, chin on her knees, staring at nothing. But her eyes—Christ, her eyes are working overtime. I can see the thoughts churning behind them, calculations running, processing everything that’s happened. Brilliant mind trapped behind sealed lips.
I want to crack her open. Not violently—gently. Like defusing a bomb, finding each wire, and understanding the connections. I want to know what she’s thinking right now, what patterns she’s seeing that I’m missing. Want to understand how her mind works, what makes her tick.
It’s not just professional curiosity. It’s something deeper, more dangerous. I want to know her. Really know her. Not just the facts—FBI analyst, witness protection, trauma from an ex—but the real her.
The silence is suffocating. But also intoxicating. Every minute she doesn’t speak makes me study her more. The way her fingers tap out patterns—always in sets of three, some kind of mathematical sequence. The micro-expressions that flash across her face—frustration, fear, and something else when she looks at me. Interest? Attraction? Without words, I have to read her body, and her body is telling a story her voice won’t.
“You okay?” I finally ask.
Her eyes flick to me, then away. A tiny shrug.
“A lot’s happened. It’s okay to not be okay with it.”
Another shrug. Smaller this time.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She opens her mouth, closes it. When she finally speaks, her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear it. “I don’t know how to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Quiet or talking. Still or moving. Here or …” She trails off, curling tighter. “I don’t know how to be anymore. I don’t know what’s happening. Don’t know what to do, how to feel, what comes next. Everything’s just—spinning.”
The words tumble out, more than she’s said in hours, and something loosens in my chest. Finally.
“I used to know things,” she continues, voice small but gaining momentum. “Used to understand patterns, predictoutcomes. But now? Victor’s dead. Morrison’s dead. Men are hunting me, and I don’t know why. Not really. And you …” She stops, looks at me, then away. “You killed people. For me. Because of me. And I should be terrified, but I’m not, and that doesn’t make sense either.”
Christ, she’s unraveling, and all I want is to hear more. Every word feels like a victory, like I’m finally getting past her walls to the realherunderneath.
“Nothing has to make sense right now,” I say, trying to keep her talking.
“But that’s what I do. I’m an analyst. I make sense of things. Find patterns. Solve problems.” Her voice cracks slightly. “Except I can’t solve this. Can’t analyze my way out. Can’t think clearly because every time I close my eyes I see that man’s head exploding and every time you look at me I feel?—”
She stops abruptly, pressing her face against her knees.
“You feel, what?”
Silence. Then, muffled, “Safe. Which is insane because you’re the most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”
This brilliant, vulnerable woman feels safe with me. After everything she’s been through, after watching me kill, she feels safe.
The need to protect her becomes overwhelming. Not just from bullets and explosions, but from this lost feeling, this spinning confusion. I want to cross the room, pull her into my arms, hold her tight against me, and tell her nothing will touch her.
