I come back to the present when her breathing shifts. It catches. A small, strained sound slips out of her, thin with panic.
Her lashes flutter. Her eyes open halfway. Blue, unfocused, searching.
She tries to sit up and fails. Pain pinches her face, frustration right behind it.
“Easy,” I say. “Stay down.”
Her throat works. “Where…,” she rasps, voice wrecked. “Where am I?”
“My cabin,” I tell her. “You knocked. You passed out.”
She jerks her head toward the door, eyes going wide. “They’re coming.”
Fear is a living thing in her.
“Maybe,” I say, steady. “If they do, they’re not walking in here.”
She looks at me like she wants to believe it and is terrified to try.
She needs something solid. A name. A reason to hold on.
“I’m Doc,” I say. “Lorenzo Grant.”
Her gaze sticks on my mouth, then lifts to my eyes.
“Doc,” she whispers, like she’s testing the word.
“Yeah.”
She swallows hard. Her hands tremble under the blanket. She tries to pull it tighter, but her fingers don’t cooperate, still stiff and clumsy from the cold.
I reach for a glass, fill it with water and hold it out without crowding her. “Drink. Small sips.”
She flinches at the movement. Then she sees what it is. Water. Her eyes drop to it like it’s a miracle and a trap at the same time.
“I won’t hurt you,” I say, reading her hesitation. “I’m not drugging you. I’m a doctor. I checked you for injuries, and I had to cut your clothes to do it. You were covered the whole time. You’re in shock and you need fluids.”
She takes the glass. Her hands shake so hard the water ripples. She drinks one sip, then another, eyelids fluttering like even that costs her.
“Good,” I murmur. “Keep going.”
She takes a third sip and coughs, then shakes her head like she’s angry at herself for coughing.
“What’s your name?” I ask. “Just your first.”
A beat. She studies me like she’s measuring the risk of giving me a name.
“Carly,” she says.
“Carly,” I repeat. “Okay. Carly, I’m going to keep you safe.”
Carly’s head snaps toward the window. Terror floods her face so fast it’s like a switch.
My body goes still.
“Hey,” I say, firm. “Look at me.”
Her eyes jerk back to mine.
