His voice was authoritative. Commanding. Nothing like the man who had said her name into a microphone ten minutes ago like it was a prayer.
The cuffs snapped closed.
Then he looked up. Luke’s eyes met hers, and his mask cracked.
Just for a moment, she saw it—the fear underneath the control. The relief.
Then backup arrived.
Radios crackled. Footsteps thundered across the grass. Voices overlapped—someone calling Rourke's name, someone else collecting the knife.
Mercer appeared beside Luke. "I've got him."
Luke nodded, shifted his weight off Rourke's back. Mercer took custody, hauling the man to his feet.
Luke gave a clipped report—short, professional, the facts only.
But his eyes kept drifting back to Grace.
Every few seconds. Like he couldn't stop himself. Like if he didn't check, she might vanish.
"Bennett," Mercer said, one eyebrow lifting. "You good?"
"Yeah," Luke said, though his jaw was still tight. "I'm good."
Mercer studied him for a second, then nodded and hauled Rourke toward the waiting patrol car.
The crowd had formed a loose circle around them. Teachers. Parents. Festival volunteers. All watching. All wide-eyed.
The EMTs hovered at the edge, waiting.
Mrs. Ellery put her arm around Grace's shoulders. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"
Grace nodded.
Luke turned.
Started toward her.
Grace watched him come toward her. She could see the shift happening with every step—the cop dissolving, the control bleeding away.
By the time he reached her, he just looked like Luke.
Wrecked. Afraid.Hers.
He stopped directly in front of her.
"Grace."
Her name came out rough. Scraped raw.
Before she could answer, his hands were on her face. Gentle. Careful. His thumbs brushed her cheeks as he turned her head, left then right, searching.
"Did he hurt you?"
His eyes were so beautiful.
"I'm okay," she told him.
