"Couple hours' sleep. Enough."
"That's not?—"
"Someone needed to monitor you for compartment syndrome. Crush injuries can be deceiving." He turned back to the kitchen. "Shower. I'll make actual food."
Sarah hobbled to the bathroom, marveling at Garoffalo's excess even here—marble counters, rainfall shower, towels that probably cost more than her monthly grocery budget.
She emerged feeling almost human, her hair still damp but no longer resembling a science experiment. Griff had set up the living area with her elevated again, breakfast on a tray table within reach.
"Eggs, toast, and anti-inflammatories," he said. "Eat first. Medication after."
"You know, for someone who claims to be a ghost, you're very bossy."
"Noted. Comes with the job description." He scrolled through his phone, probably reading terrifying things on the dark web. "Your ankle needs to hold up if we have to move fast. That means proper care now, not hero complex stupidity."
Sarah wanted to be offended, but the eggs were perfect, and her ankle already felt better elevated. She ate in comfortablesilence, watching him work through whatever intelligence he was gathering.
When she finished, he set down his phone with that careful neutrality that meant bad news was coming.
"We need to talk about next steps."
Sarah's stomach dropped. She knew that tone. He planned on packing her off.
Not. Happening.
She folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the shooting pain in her ankle, and prepped for battle.
11
“I needto get you to safety. No way this ends well for us together.”
Resentment jolted Sarah at Griff’s self-assured tone.
His harsh assessment made her eyes sting. Not that she’d let him know it. She blinked hard, hoping the reflection in her glasses would hide her reaction.
"Knight Tactical’s got a million safe houses.” He went on, oblivious to her rising anger. “Medical care for your ankle, secure communications, full protection. I can get you there without being tracked. My team will?—"
"No."
The word came out sharper than she intended. Griff cocked his head, clearly not expecting immediate resistance.
"This isn't a discussion," he said, but she caught the slight uncertainty. "You need proper medical attention, secure facilities?—"
"I need answers." Sarah shifted to face him fully, ignoring the twinge in her ankle. "This is my investigation. My case. Someone tried to kill me over it."
"Exactly why you need protection."
"Your team's protection?" She grabbed his phone from where he'd set it down, showing him his own dark web intel. "The team that's under surveillance? The one you won't contact because it's too dangerous?"
His jaw tightened. "They can handle?—"
"Handle what, exactly? Me showing up at their door alone?" Sarah let that sink in. "Hi, I'm Sarah, Griff sent me but he's not coming, can't tell you where he is, also we're all being watched. How does that play out?"
"They'd protect you."
"And Stillwater would know immediately you're alive, that you sent me, and that I know something worth protecting." She stood, testing her weight on the bad ankle. "I become bait the second I surface without you."
"You're already bait."
