She gives a humorless snort that catches me off guard. “You saying I’m gonna be fucked up? Is that your professional medical opinion?”
“I’m saying you’rehuman,” I reply. “And it’s okay to not be okay. What happened to you isn’t something you just walk off.”
Zahra’s gaze drifts behind me to the door—at Jagger and Damon—and back to me. I answer her question before she can ask it. “The man outside. That’s Damon. He’s good people. Safe. If you need anything, he’ll take care of it. And no one comes near you unless they’re supposed to. I promise.”
She exhales, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. “Okay.”
Silence settles over the room, thick with everything we’re not saying. My chest tightens until the words push their way out before I can stop them. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Zahra, I am so?—”
“No,” she interrupts sharply, squeezing my hand firmly. “No. This was not your fault.”
I shake my head, regret roaring to life. “If I hadn’t?—”
“This wasnotyour fault,” she repeats, more sternly. “I walked into that surgery with you. I knew exactly what we were doing. I knew the risks. I chose to take them.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, hot and relentless. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
“And neither should Maryam,” she counters, causing a tear to roll down my face. Hers softens in response. “This isn’t on you.Wemade a choice. And it was the right one.”
I squeeze her hand, the guilt still tearing at me.
She glances past me, toward Jagger, then back again. “Does he know?”
“Yes,” I answer quietly. “I just… haven’t told him where.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “Is she okay?”
“She has a few days of supplies,” I share. “She and Aliyah will be okay. For now.”
Zahra nods slowly, eyes closing briefly at therelief. “Good.”
I don’t stay long. She’s exhausted, pain dragging at her despite the medication, and I refuse to take more than she has to give. Before we leave, I smooth her hair back gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back,” I promise. “Soon.”
“I know.” She gives a faint smile. “You’re a total sucker for a woman in distress.”
I thank Damon again for watching over my friend before we leave.
The drive back to the safe house is silent. Not awkward or angry. Just heavy.
When we walk inside, the tension from yesterday is still there, waiting for us like an uninvited guest. Hawk looks up from the table, and Gunnar gives a nod to acknowledge our presence. No one asks me anything, but I can feel their curiosity pressing in from all sides.
They want answers. They want the missing piece. They want me to tell them where Maryam is.
Dinner happens because it has to, because bodies need fuel even when their minds are elsewhere. In the kitchen, we move around each other, passing plates and setting utensils down with unnecessary care. Gunnar cooks, Hawk helps, and Jagger pretends not to watch me too closely.
The food tastes like cardboard. Conversation is sparse, polite but strained. I excuse myself early, mumbling something about needing a shower, and head upstairs before anyone can stop me.
I walk to the shared bathroom in the middle of the hall, close the door behind me, and lean against it, breathingdeeply until the tightness in my chest eases a little. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I splash water on my face. I look as tired as I feel.
The deep voices from downstairs drift up through the vent, low and indistinct. I can’t make out most of their words, just low murmurs and the occasional clink of dishes. “She’ll tell us.” Jagger’s voice comes through rough and certain.
Something twists in my chest, a brief moment of doubt that he is actually using me to get information.
I head into the room that Jagger and I are sharing. It’s small and sparse, nothing in it except a bed, a dresser, and a lamp on the floor. I change into pajamas, more correctly Jagger’s oversized shirt, and slide between the sheets, desperately hoping this gnawing fear at me, saying Jagger and I arejust a job, is just that.Fear.
Hawk leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and jaw tight. Gunnar matches his demeanor at the table with his planted elbows and steepled fingers. I know an argument—or a lecture—is coming before it even starts, leaving me suddenly very jealous of Damon’s post outside Zahra’s hospital room.
“Something about her demand doesn’t sit right with me,” Hawk shares flatly. “Her request to meet with Maryam’s brother face-to-face… That’s the move of someone who knows they have leverage.”
