A soft knock sounds at the door before it opens. Elena steps inside, her smile warm and familiar. She has been with me since the first night. There is something about her that reminds me of Mama. The way she tucks the blanket around my legs. The gentle touch of her hands. In my head I call herMama, the Russian word a quiet comfort I keep to myself.
“Good morning, sweet girl,” she says softly.
I manage a small smile. My body still feels weak, but it is better than it was. Less hollow. Less like I might disappear if I close my eyes too long.
She checks my chart, then looks at me with a brightness that makes my stomach tighten. “You’re being discharged today.”
The words land heavy in my chest. Discharged. Leaving. The safety of this room suddenly feels fragile. I glance at her, then at Riot. Elena follows my gaze and her eyes settle on him. There isa brief pause. A quiet assessment. I see the way her expression softens, how she inclines her head just slightly. She respects him. Trusts him in a way that eases something tight inside me.
She turns back to me. “Do you have somewhere to go, sweet girl?”
The question hangs in the air. My mind scrambles. The hospital has become a small island where nothing can reach me. Outside is a world I do not understand anymore. A world that hurt me.
Before I can answer, Riot speaks.
“She’s coming with me.”
His voice is calm and certain. No hesitation. He says it like it is already decided, like there is no other option. I know he mentioned a safe house before. A place his club uses. The memory sends a cold ripple through me. Another strange building. More unfamiliar faces. The thought of walking into another unknown space makes my chest tighten.
I do not want to go there.
My fingers curl in the thin hospital blanket. I stare at my hands, at the faint tremor that still lives in them. Elena looks between us, reading something in my silence. Her hand comes to rest lightly on my arm.
“You’ll be safe with him,” she says gently, her eyes warm and certain.
Safe. The word echoes. Riot’s presence fills the room, steady and solid. I know he means to protect me. I feel it every time his gaze meets mine. But the idea of leaving this place, of stepping back into the world, presses against my ribs until it is hard to breathe.
I lift my eyes to his. He is already watching me. Waiting. Not pushing. Just there. And the truth rises quiet and stubborn inside me.
I want to go with him.
Just not to a place that feels like another cage.
When Elena leaves, the room falls quiet again. The door clicks shut and for a second it is just the two of us. Riot watches it close, then moves. He shuts his laptop and slides it into a worn black backpack at his feet, every motion efficient and practiced.
Then he reaches down and pulls up a small bag I did not notice before.
“I got the girls to get you some clothes and other shit you need,” he says gently, nodding toward the bathroom. “I’m going to put this in there and you can change. Then we’ll go, okay?”
He looks at me when he says it. Really looks. His eyes search mine like he is checking for cracks I cannot see. For fear. For doubt.
I nod.
He steps closer and offers his hand. I take it after a second, my fingers small in his. He helps me stand, his grip steady at my elbow when my legs wobble. The floor feels strange under my bare feet. Too solid. Too real. He walks me slowly to the bathroom door like I am something fragile.
I give him a small smile. It feels rusty on my face, like a muscle I have not used in a long time. He returns it with a slight tilt of his head, then steps back so I can close the door.
The bathroom is bright and clean. There is a small shower in the corner. I turn the water on and step under it before I can think too much. The heat sinks into my skin, loosening knots I did not know I was carrying. I use the thin hospital soap and shampoo, scrubbing until my skin tingles. Until I feel almost new.
When I finish, I dry off and open the bag. Soft clothes spill into my hands. A shirt. Sweatpants. Underwear. Socks. Simple things that make my throat tighten. The clothes are a little big, but they fit well enough to wear. They smell faintly like laundry soap and something floral I cannot name.
I pull the shirt over my head and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look smaller somehow. Washed out. A stranger wearing borrowed clothes. My mind circles the words he said. The girls. I picture faces I do not know. A house full of strangers. My stomach knots.
Am I going to be jumping from one hell to another?
Riot has been kind. Patient. He sits beside my bed and watches over me like a guard dog. But I have learned the hard way that kindness can be a mask. That monsters can smile. What if this is an act? What if I walk out that door and disappear into another cage with softer walls?
My chest tightens. I press my hands against the sink and try to breathe through the storm in my head. I want to trust him. Every instinct I have left pulls me toward him, toward the steady warmth of his presence.
