Xavier’s pen scratched across paper. What does it mean?
“I don’t know. I’m a nurse, not a neurosurgeon.” Frustration bled through. “This is so far outside my wheelhouse it’s not even in the same ocean.”
He wrote faster. Could it control me? Track me? Kill me?
“Maybe. All of the above. None of the above. I don’t have the knowledge to tell you.”
The silence stretched. Heavy.
We’d found the violation carved into his spine and had exactly zero answers.
Xavier’s palm moved to his neck again.
“Stop.” My fingers wrapped around his wrist. “You can’t feel it. All you’re doing is making yourself crazy.”
Dark and lost, that was how he met my attention.
My thumb brushed across his pulse without thinking.
I flushed. Pulled away.
Crossed to the clinic’s desk. Dropped into the chair before my legs gave out.
Exhaustion hit like a freight train. Three hours of sleep in four days. Body shaking with fatigue I’d been ignoring.
Can’t stop. If I stop, he dies.
Xavier observed me from across the room.
His pen moved. You need rest.
“I’m fine.”
He underlined the words. Twice. Liar.
“Yeah, well. Join the club.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face.
He crossed to me. Stopped near enough I had to tilt my head back. Wrote on the notepad.
I should leave. Safer for you.
Stomach dropped. Chest constricted. Immediate visceral “no” screaming in my head.
“That might be... smart.” My touch settled on his shoulder. “But don’t. Not yet. We need answers first. Figure out what that chip does. Once we know you’re okay, I’ll help you however I can.”
Something shifted in his expression. Relief, maybe.
He wrote fast. Dangerous for you if I stay.
“Already dangerous. They know someone helped you. I’m not asking for long. You need someone who can treat your injuries. I need someone who can...” Fight. Protect. “Keep me alive if this goes sideways.”
His jaw worked. Processing. Calculating risks.
Finally, he nodded.
“We go back to my apartment. Rest. Research. Can’t do anything useful running on fumes.”
