I don't sit. Some stubborn part of me refuses to obey just because he issued an order. "About what?"
"About what you saw. What evidence you have. Who's chasing you and how badly they want you dead." He crosses his arms, leaning against the counter with deceptive casualness. But there's nothing casual about the way he's watching me. Clinical. Analytical. Assessing threat level and calculating outcomes. "Start from the beginning. Don't leave anything out."
"Why should I tell you anything?" The words come out sharper than I intend, defensive and scared and confused.
"Because I'm the only thing standing between you and a bullet." His voice doesn't rise. Doesn't need to. The certainty in it is enough. "Because those men back there aren't going to stop looking. And because if I'm going to keep you alive, I need to know what we're facing."
My hand moves automatically to the pocket of my jacket, feeling the SD card through the fabric. Such a small thing. But it contains proof that makes me a target.
"I'm a wildlife biologist." I force the words out, trying to maintain some semblance of control over this conversation. "I was studying wolf pack behavior. I had trail cameras set up along their territory corridors."
"And you caught something else on those cameras." Not a question. He already knows.
"Women. Being moved. Herded." The memory makes my stomach turn. "Hands bound. Men with rifles pushing them toward a plane. It was at night. The infrared picked up everything. Their faces. The terror. The way those men handled them like they were cargo instead of people."
His expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes. Something dark and dangerous. "When?"
"Three days ago. The timestamp was clear."
"And you kept the footage."
"Of course I kept it. It's evidence. Proof. Those women need help, they need?—"
"They need to be saved, yeah I get it. But the traffickers need you dead." He cuts through my righteous anger with brutal efficiency. "The second you saw that footage, you became a witness. The second you kept it, you became a target. And the people running that operation? They'll burn the world down to get that evidence back and eliminate the person who captured it."
"You keep saying that." My voice rises despite my attempt to stay calm. "But maybe if we just contact the authorities?—"
"No."
The word is absolute. Final. No room for argument or negotiation.
"You can't just?—"
"I can and I am." He pushes off the counter, taking a step closer. Not threatening, exactly, but reminding me he's bigger, stronger, dangerous in ways I'm not. "No one's coming until the storm clears. And when it does, they'll be waiting. Those men saw my plane. They got a look at the tail number before we were out of range. They know what direction we flew. They'll be watching every airport, every airstrip, every place we might try to land within range of that location."
"But I have evidence." I pull the SD card from my pocket, holding it up like it's a weapon instead of just data. "This could save those women. Could shut down the entire operation. People are being hurt while we sit here arguing about?—"
"You'll be dead before that evidence matters."
The words hit like a slap. Cold. Brutal. True.
"They're professionals, Neve." He says my name for the first time, and somehow that makes this worse. Makes it personal. "Well-funded. Connected. They have resources you can't imagine and zero hesitation about using them. You think you can just walk into a police station and hand over that card?They'll have people watching for that. You won't make it through the door."
"So what, I just do nothing?" Anger burns through the fear, hot and sharp. "I just let them keep trafficking women because it's too dangerous to try to stop them?"
"You stay alive." His voice drops lower. "You let me figure out how to use that evidence without getting us both killed in the process. And you accept that survival takes priority over justice until I say otherwise."
The unfairness of it chokes me. The helplessness. I survived the chase, survived the bullets, survived getting into a plane with a dangerous stranger, and now I'm being told to just sit here and wait while women suffer.
"I hate this." The words are barely a whisper.
"Good. Hate is useful. Hate keeps you sharp." He turns away, moving to a cabinet. "Now, let me see your injuries."
The subject change throws me. "What?"
"You're injured. You were bleeding when you got in my plane." He pulls out what looks like a comprehensive medical kit, sets it on the table. "I need to assess the damage and treat what needs treating before infection sets in."
"I'm fine."
