“Security sent the footage to PD,” I say. “They detained him outside before he made it to the street.”
“Good,” Alex says, satisfied.
Mark’s eyes narrow. “What about charges?”
“They’ll handle it,” I say, and the hardness in my voice surprises even me. “But if they don’t, I will.”
Mark’s mouth lifts. “There he is.”
Alex gives me a look that says don’t be stupid, and then says it out loud. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not going to do anything,” I snap.
“Mm-hmm,” Mark says, not believing me for a second. “You’re just going to quietly and legally destroy his life.”
“That,” Alex agrees, “is your love language.”
“I don’t have a love language,” I mutter.
Mark’s grin turns sharp. “Oh, you do. It’s called control, and it’s adorable.”
I shoot him a look that could strip paint. He just grins wider and lifts his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay,” he whispers. “Control. Respect. Whatever. Still cute.”
Alex’s gaze flicks back to Audra. “What do we do when she wakes up?”
“We act normal,” I say.
Mark’s brows lift. “Your version of normal is terrifying.”
“Not like that,” I grind out. “I mean… we don’t make her feel like she’s a problem we’re managing.”
Alex’s mouth softens. “That’s actually… good.”
Mark makes a face. “I hate when you’re sweet. Makes my skin itch.”
I ignore him.
Because the truth is, Audra Sullivan is not used to being handled gently. Not by men like me. Not by anyone, if the way she flinched last night is any indication.
She’s all spine and competence and sharpness at the office, because she has to be. Because she learned that if you’re not sharp, people cut you first.
But this morning—this afternoon—she’s been stripped down to raw. And something in me hates the world for making her earn that armor.
The TV murmurs, a nature program she put on before she fell asleep again. River water glints on-screen. A narrator speaks softly about migration patterns. I’ve never cared about fish in my life.
I’ve also never been so grateful for background noise.
Audra shifts.
Not a full wake—just the subtle adjustment of her shoulders beneath the blanket. Her fingers curl tighter around the edge, like it’s an anchor.
I lean forward without thinking.
Mark’s hand lands on my knee, firm enough to stop me. He doesn’t look at me when he whispers. “Let her wake. Don’t pounce.”
I glare at him. “I wasn’t going to pounce.”
