“Thank you,” Lincoln said. The words felt inadequate. Insufficient. “For coming. For helping. For not asking questions. For—” He stopped, frustrated by the limitations of language. “You drove four hours in the middle of the night because I asked. I don’t know how to quantify that.”
Bear’s expression softened. “You don’t have to quantify it. That’s what family does.”
“I know. But I want you to know that I know.”
Something flickered across Bear’s face—amusement, maybe, or affection. “I know you know, cuz.” He opened his truck door, then paused. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, right? Like try to find these people yourself before you know what you’re dealing with?”
Lincoln considered the question. The rage was there, coiled tight in his chest, waiting for a target. But rage without data was just noise. He needed information first. He needed to understand what he was walking into.
“Not yet,” he said.
Bear studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded, apparently satisfied, and climbed into his truck. The three vehicles pulled away down the long drive, taillights disappearing around the first curve.
Lincoln stood in the doorway until the gate chimed its closure. Then he turned back inside to find Annie.
She was in the kitchen, washing her hands at the sink. Her medical bag sat on the counter, already packed and ready to go.
“How is she?” Lincoln asked.
“Physically? She’ll heal. The cuts are the most notable injury. But they’re superficial—painful, but not dangerous. I’ve cleaned them and applied antibiotic ointment. The infection is mild. Oral antibiotics should handle it.”
The cuts. Lincoln’s jaw tightened. He’d caught a glimpse of them in the car, when he’d shifted her positionand the blanket slipped. Parallel lines carved into her skin—neat, deliberate, the work of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. The image had lodged itself behind his eyes like a splinter.
“How many?” he asked.
Annie’s expression flickered. It was probably not the question a normal person would’ve asked, but she took it in stride. “Twenty-five total. Fourteen on the left forearm, eleven on the right. Different stages of healing. They took place over days.” She paused. “They weren’t random, Lincoln. Whoever did this was systematic.”
The rage coiled tighter in his chest. Systematic. Like punishment. Like training.
Annie dried her hands on a towel, her movements precise and unhurried. “She’s also dehydrated and exhausted. She needs to drink and eat small amounts regularly. Nothing heavy—her stomach won’t tolerate it.”
“What about the rest of it? Was she—” He couldn’t finish the question. Even forcing out that much was nearly impossible.
The chance that Mercury—Morgan—had been sexual assaulted was high.
“She assured me she wasn’t assaulted in the way you’re thinking.”
“Do you believe her?”
Annie sighed. “I do.”
The enormity of his relief was staggering, but he didn’t say anything.
“I know people can sometimes not be forthcoming about that sort of information for multiple reasons, from shame to outright repression. But I don’t think that’s the case with Morgan. She said that the people who took her wanted her for her mind.”
He wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but he was glad she hadn’t been hurt in a sexual way. “Okay.”
“She also has some psychological damage. Anyone who was kidnapped, held against their will, and harmed would have it.” Annie set the towel down. Her eyes met his with the particular steadiness of someone who’d known him since he was born. “That’s harder to quantify.”
“Try.”
“She’s traumatized, Lincoln. Whatever happened in that place—she’s going to need time. Patience. Space to process.” Annie leaned against the counter. “She probably needs to talk to a counselor. I didn’t mention that now because she was barely conscious as it was, but it’s something to consider.”
“Is it…?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is talking something I could help her with? I know I’m not the best with people, but…”
I care about her. He wasn’t sure how to explain his relationship with Mercury. No, he’d never met her before today, but he did care about her.
Annie smiled kindly. “You’re better with people than you give yourself credit for. You care about her, and she feels safe with you.”
