I should run. Every instinct screaming to run. Two dead men at our feet. Blood in the snow.
But I wasn’t afraid. Not of him.
Wary of what he’d done. Shocked by the violence. But not afraid of him.
The distinction mattered.
My head was a mess. Thoughts tangling. Because this was always what he was. Killer and protector both real. Both him.
And he’d used that violence for me.
Those cops would’ve arrested us. Separated us. Locked him away where I couldn’t reach him.
Where they could do whatever they wanted to the man with a chip in his spine.
My breath hitched.
Crossroad. Whatever I decided here, no going back.
Xavier’s touch settled on my shoulder. Light pressure. Locked on mine. Telling me without words he’d leave. Disappear alone because I’d seen what he was.
Like he expected this. Expected me to recoil.
Like he thought he deserved to be left.
I could save myself. Tell police he threatened me. They’d believe it.
Perfect victim narrative.
Could work.
But.
Her voice echoed. I really need you, Clare. Please.
This man needed me. And I’d promised myself. Never again. Never make someone wait when they can’t.
Fuck that.
But the words wouldn’t come.
My body wouldn’t move.
Because there were two men dead at my feet. Two men who’d had families, maybe. Lives. Futures.
Gone.
Because of him.
Because of me.
My stomach lurched. Throat constricted. Vision tunneled.
Going to be sick.
I stumbled sideways. Away from the bodies. Away from the blood spreading in dark halos across white snow. Palm pressed to my mouth.
Retched. Nothing came up. Just dry heaves that bent me double.
