"You're safe here," I say.
Her breath hitches. She nods once, a quick jerk of her chin that looks like it costs her something to manage.
"You hurt?" I ask.
"No." Her voice is hoarse, barely louder than the wind rattling the windows. "I just—I need—" She stops. Swallows hard. Tries again. "I need help."
Behind me, I hear the quiet shift of chairs. Hansen standing, probably. Miller and Luke moving into position without being told. The club operating the way it always does when something breaks into our territory that doesn't belong.
I keep my focus on her.
"What's your name?"
"Megan." She forces it out like she's not sure she should give it.
"Megan," I repeat, letting the name settle. "I'm Morgan. You walked into the Night Wolves' bar. You know what that means?"
She shakes her head.
"It means you're under our protection now," I tell her. "Anyone comes looking for you, they go through us first."
I shrug out of my heavy leather jacket, warm from my body heat, and hold it out to her.
She takes the jacket with shaking hands and pulls it around her shoulders. She closes her eyes for half a second, breathing in deep.
When she opens them again, she's steadier.
I gesture toward the bar. "Come on. Let's get you warm."
She follows me without hesitation this time, sticking close enough that I can feel her presence at my shoulder. The bar parts around us. Hansen catches my eye and gives a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Permission, the understanding that I'll handle this.
I grab a clean glass, fill it with water from the tap, and set it in front of her.
I lean against the bar beside her, close enough to be solid but far enough not to crowd. "Who's chasing you?"
She flinches again. Smaller this time, but still visible.
"My ex," she whispers. "He won't stop. I've been running for weeks and he keeps finding me. I thought—" Her voice cracks. "I thought I lost him in the storm but I don't know. I don't know if I'm safe."
The bruises on her wrists make sudden, terrible sense.
"You are now," I tell her, and mean it with every bone in my body.
She looks at me like she wants to believe that, like she's trying to figure out if I'm lying or delusional or actually capable of making that promise stick.
Hansen appears at my other shoulder, silent and assessing. He just looks at Megan, then at me, reading the situation the way he always does.
"She stays close," he says quietly.
"Yeah," I say. "She does."
Hansen nods once and steps away, already moving back toward Miller and Luke to handle whatever logistics need handling. The club will adjust like it always does.
I turn back to Megan. "You can't stay here."
Her face goes pale. "I—"
