"Did he hurt you?" he asks.
"No," I say quickly. Then I hesitate. "Not like that."
His expression doesn't soften.
"How, then?"
"There was verbal abuse, and he went into rages, breaking things. The threat of physical violence was always there.” I take a shaky breath. “He controlled everything. What I wore. Where I went. Who I talked to. He called ittaking care of me."
Ross's hands curl into fists on his knees, then relax again. Controlled. Measured. But I can see it.
Anger.
Not at me.For me.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, even though I don't know why I'm apologizing. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's not your problem."
Ross leans back slightly, eyes never leaving mine.
"It is my problem if someone's stalking you in my county," he says. "And it's my problem if you're not safe."
My eyes sting. "I don't even know if he's here. I just... I know him. He doesn't let go."
Ross nods once. "Okay."
That's it. One word. But it feels like a promise.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "Do you have his name?"
I freeze.
Saying it feels like summoning him.
I give it anyway. "Brandon Mitchell."
Ross types it in, calm and efficient, like he's collecting evidence.
"Do you have a photo?" he asks.
"I do," I say, voice small. I take my phone out and pull up the last picture I have, then pass it across.
Ross looks at it for two seconds. Maybe three. “Mind if I text it to myself? In case the police department needs it?”
I shake my head.
He sends the text and then he hands my phone back.
"What exactly did he say when you left? Did he threaten to follow you?”
"He said if I tried to leave, I'd regret it. He said no one would take me seriously without him. I feel like he’s lurking in the shadows of the parking lot, ready to pounce.” I wring my hands. “Maybe he’s right. I am weak.”
Ross's eyes lift to mine, hard and sure. “No. He’s wrong.”
The certainty in his voice makes my eyes burn.
I blink fast. "You don't even know me."
His gaze drops to my mouth for the briefest moment before returning to my eyes.
