But this wasn’t a broken trinket. This was a body in the woods. A person with people who loved him, who would never see him again because of me.
“But doing so is basically a confession,” Ryker continued, “and everything you say will be used against you.”
“I took a life, Ryker.” My voice came out small, and I pressed my palm against my temple, willing the throbbing to stop. “I must have, and the least I can do as a decent human being is tell his loved ones how very sorry I am.”
He sighed. “I know you want to. And someday, maybe there will be an opportunity for you to speak to them. But not now. Right now, we need to work on your defense.”
“It feels wrong to worry about myself right now.”
“You’re fighting for your life, Faith. You have to worry aboutyourself.”
“But—”
“You can’t go back in time. The guy is gone, and we can’t change that. The only thing we can control is every step we take from this point forward. And every single step has to be on point, building a defense. Okay?”
My chest ached with competing emotions. Guilt that someone was dead because of me. Shame that I had to prioritize my survival over what felt morally right. And underneath it all, this gratitude that Ryker was here, guiding me through the darkness when I couldn’t see two feet in front of me.
I studied the determined set of his jaw, the way his thumb still moved against my skin, like he couldn’t stop touching me. Even now, when offering condolences felt like the only decent thing to do, I trusted him. Trusted him with my life, my future, my fractured moral compass.
A nurse appeared with a plastic-wrapped bundle. “These are for you.”
She set the package on the bed and left without another word. I stared at the contents: pale blue paper scrubs, the kind that rustled when you moved. Disposable underwear. Foam slippers with no-slip grips on the soles. Soft cottons and real fabrics were for people who hadn’t killed anyone. Paper was what they gave you when you became a case file instead of a person.
“Faith, they found your car,” Ryker said. “It was a few blocks from the mansion. Why?”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds. The pressure behind my eyes built, memories dancing just out of reach, like smoke.
“And why were you barefoot in a dress?”
“I don’t remember,” I said honestly. Twisting my hands, I waited a few seconds, getting back to what felt like a more important and time-sensitive topic at the moment. “That detective was implying you’re risking your career, defending me.”
“That detective is full of more shit than a fertilizer factory.” Ryker’s thumb hadn’t stopped its circular assault on my ability tothink straight. “Many cops think defense attorneys play for Team Evil.”
“But not all cases are created equal. He looked ready to burn you alive just for breathing my air.”
“That guy probably looks homicidal when ordering coffee.”
“This could destroy you. Your career.”
Something flickered across his face. Real worry, quickly buried. “Sometimes, cops get particularly heated about certain cases. Doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything.” My voice pitched higher, panic clawing up my throat. “You’re putting your entire future on the line.”
“Faith.” He said my name like it cost him something. “I’d put everything on the line for you.”
The words hung between us, heavy with meaning. All this time, I’d been lying to myself about what this was between us. But this? Him risking everything, his reputation, his career, his future?
This was real. Raw. Terrifying in its honesty.
My throat tightened. “You barely know me.”
“I know you’re not what that detective thinks you are.”
He sounded so sure. And that terrified me more than the handcuffs waiting outside the door.
“How?” The word scraped out. “How can you possibly know that?”
Something flickered across his face. Pain maybe. Or memory. “Because I’ve seen the real thing, Faith. I’ve looked into the eyes of people who felt nothing. No remorse. No hesitation.” His tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. “That’s not you.”
