Mark smiles slowly. “Sure you are. You just don’t call it that.”
They don’t push further. They don’t need to.
The silence stretches again — thicker now, charged.
Mutual.
Unresolved.
And for the first time, I realize this isn’t distance.
It’s a standoff.
Chapter Eighteen
AUDRA
If Shannon has a love language,it’s caretaking through overkill.
She’s been in my apartment for ten minutes and has already fluffed my couch pillows, reorganized my kitchen counter, and declared my current blanket “emotionally insufficient.”
“I’m seventy-five percent better,” I tell her, watching as she replaces my throw with a thicker one. “I do not need hospice care.”
“You were drugged at a club,” she replies flatly. “You get at least three days of dramatic nurturing.”
Jamie nods from the armchair like this is a ruling that’s already been voted on. “Minimum.”
Levi, sprawled on the floor with his back against the couch, looks up from his phone. “I canceled my plans. Do not waste this.”
I smile despite myself.
Physically, I do feel better. The fog has mostly lifted, leaving behind a bone-deep tiredness and the occasional wave of nausea if I move too fast. Emotionally… it’s harder to pin down.
Everything feels slightly off-kilter. Like the world shifted a half inch to the left and I’m still compensating.
They brought groceries. Soup. Crackers. Ginger ale. Jamie insists on making tea even though I tell her I’m fine. Shannon keepsadjusting things that don’t need adjusting. Levi narrates the entire process like he’s providing live commentary for an audience that doesn’t exist.
I let them.
It feels good to be surrounded. To be normal again.
For a while, no one mentions Derek.
That’s intentional. They’re being careful.
Instead, Shannon drops onto the arm of the couch like she’s been waiting for permission.
“Okay,” she says, rolling her shoulders back. “Now that we’ve confirmed you’re alive and not secretly concussed, can we talk about what a lawless hellscape The Vault actually is?”
Jamie snorts. “That place is not governed by human rules.”
“It’s governed by money,” Levi corrects. “Which is worse.”
Shannon points at him. “Thank you. Exactly. I watched a man in a five-thousand-dollar jacket get finger-fed olives by a woman who looked like she owned a small country.”
Jamie’s eyes widen. “Was she the one with diamonds in her hair?”
“Yes,” Shannon says. “Which I’m fairly certain violates several international treaties.”
