Her breath stuttered, betraying her calm. “You’re benching me?”
“I’m keeping you alive.”
“Same thing. And you don’t have the authority to do that.” She pushed up on one elbow, wincing as the movement sent fire through her ribs. “You think I’m just going to walk away now? After what happened?”
“Viv, you’re injured. You need rest. I can bench you for medical.”
“What I need is to make sure whoever was in that lighthouse doesn’t come back to finish the job.” Her voice steadied, sharp despite the tremor in her body. “If you go out there alone, you’ll get yourself killed.”
He stood, pacing toward the foot of the bed, tension radiating off him. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then don’t do it.”
“I don’t have a choice,” he shot back, then caught himself, lowering his voice. “I have to keep pushing. If I lose the trail now, we’ll never take down Laurel Tide. There are men, women, and children who suffer daily because of them.”
She studied him for a long moment. The anger in his words wasn’t directed at her—it was born of fear. Fear he’d let the bully win. The same fear that had driven him since the day they met. He didn’t know how to stop chasing justice long enough to see it was killing him. “You still think you can burn down the world to save it. You can’t.”
He froze. His swagger stalling to straight back.
“You think I don’t know what it’s like?” she said in a rough tone. “I’ve watched partners go under, watched good people vanish because someone higher up decided they weren’t convenient. You don’t get to shut me out of this.”
He turned, his eyes meeting hers. “Vivian?—”
“No.” She pushed the blanket aside, ignoring the pull in her side. “You’re right about one thing. There’s still a leak. If Maddox is part of this, if he’s feeding intel to Laurel Tide, we’re both already on borrowed time. You need someone you can trust watching your six.”
“And you think that’s you?” His tone was half exasperation, half disbelief.
“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “Because I’m the only one who’ll tell you when you’re about to get yourself killed.”
For a second, neither spoke. The monitor beeped steadily, the sound filling the space between them.
Then Blake sighed, a quiet, defeated sound. He crossed back to her side, hands braced on the bed rail. His voice dropped, rough and unguarded. “You drive me insane, you know that?”
Vivian felt the corners of her mouth twitch. “Occupational hazard.”
His eyes softened, the hard lines easing. “You should’ve stayed on comms.”
“I pulled a move from the Blake Playbook.”
“Touche.”
A beat passed, quieter now, the storm between them ebbing to something fragile. He brushed his fingers lightly against the edge of the bandage on her temple, then pressed a kiss to her forehead, then whispered, “You scared me.”
The heart monitor rapid-fired. “Blake?—”
“Don’t.” His thumb brushed her cheek before he drew his hand back, the touch gone too soon. “Just… don’t scare me like that again.”
Her pulse stuttered. “No promises.”
He smiled, the barest blink of one, but real. “Didn’t think so.”
For the first time since she’d opened her eyes, the weight in her chest eased. Beneath all the guilt and frustration, something else flickered between them—understanding, fragile but steady. The kind that only came from nearly losing someone and realizing you’d never been ready to let them go.
Vivian exhaled slowly, letting her head rest against the pillow. “You’re not sending me back,” she murmured, more a statement than a question.
He hesitated, then nodded once. “We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”
“Translation: no.”
