I ride into gunfire without blinking.
Tonight, I’m worried about scaring a girl with the sound of a spoon.
The kettle clicks.
I pour hot water into two chipped mugs.
Carry one over and set it on the table in front of her.
“Tea.”
Her eyes flick to the mug like it might detonate. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can drink anything.”
“Small sips,” I tell her. “If you can’t, leave it.”
I take my mug and sit across from her, leaving enough distance that she can breathe.
She watches me drink first.
Smart again.
Then she lifts the mug in both hands and takes a careful sip.
Her shoulders drop a fraction.
I glance at her bare legs, the way the dress rides up, the way she still looks exposed even sitting still.
I look away fast.
I stand and cross to the duffel by the bathroom door. Pull out a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.
I set them on the table beside her.
“Change,” I say. “You’ll feel better.”
Her fingers hover over the fabric. “These are… yours.”
“They’re clean.”
Her throat works. “Why are you doing this?”
Because if I don’t, I’ll tear Velvet Reign down board by board with my bare hands.
Because watching you on that stage woke up something ugly in me.
Because I saw you looking at that room like you were drowning and nobody planned to help.
Because I know exactly what it is to be treated like somebody else’s problem.
I keep all of it where it belongs.
Inside.
I give her the truth she can survive.
“Because men like him deserve consequences,” I say. “And you deserve to be safe.”
Her eyes glisten, but she blinks fast like she refuses to cry in front of me.
