His heart beat under the bandages I’d wrapped. His life in my keeping now, whether he trusted me or not, whether I knew what I was doing or not.
Whether I was strong enough or not.
Already crossed too many lines to turn back now. Already committed too many felonies. Already tied myself to his survival in ways I couldn’t untangle even if I wanted to.
And I didn’t want to.
Even knowing I was probably going to fail. Even knowing I was in over my head. Even knowing the smart thing would be to call for help, turn him in, save myself.
I didn’t want to.
Still on mine. Still wary. Still calculating. But something underneath shifted… maybe recognition of the determination in my voice, maybe understanding that he was stuck with me whether he liked it or not.
Maybe just exhaustion finally winning, pulling him back under.
Fluttered closed. Consciousness slipping away again, fever and blood loss and sheer physical trauma dragging him down.
But his breathing steadied. The panic eased from his features. Like some part of him believed me. Like some part of him waswilling to trust this woman who’d dragged him from the snow, who’d stolen medical supplies, who’d made impossible promises in a freezing apartment while the world hunted him.
More trust than I deserved. More trust than was smart.
Remained there, palm hovering near his, not quite touching. Watching his chest rise and fall. Counting heartbeats. Making plans I had no idea how to execute.
The radiator clanked weakly. Snow tapped on windows. Dawn was a few hours away.
And I had work to do.
My frame protested when I tried to stand. Everything hurt. Everything shook. Had to brace on the mattress to get upright.
But I did. Got up. Checked his vitals again. Tucked the covers tighter around him, the apartment still too cold, his system still too fragile. Changed the compress on his forehead. Adjusted the IV drip.
Kept working because that’s all I knew how to do.
Let the police search. Let whoever put those surgical scars on his neck come hunting. Let them come.
I’d figure something out.
I had to.
Chapter 5
Xavier
Ceiling. White. Cracks.
My attention tracked them automatically, mapping patterns, measuring distance to corners, calculating structural weakness.
Why?
Didn’t know. Couldn’t stop.
My focus swept the room without permission. Window, covered, fabric blocking light. Door, closed, single entry point. Corners, shadows, potential concealment. Exits, one visible, calculating secondary routes through walls if needed.
Threat assessment complete before conscious thought caught up.
What the hell was that?
Tried to move. Body refused. Limbs heavy, disconnected, responding to commands with the enthusiasm of dead weight. Managed to shift my head, pain lanced through my skull, vision whiting out.
