His shirt is stiff with dried blood. Dark stains cover the front of it and smear across his forearms and hands. My stomach twists when I realize some of it must be mine.
“Emma,” he says again, softer this time.
His hand closes around mine.
Warm.
Strong.
Real.
For a second I just stare at him, trying to piece together what’s happening.
Why he looks like that.
Why I feel like this.
“Where…” My voice breaks instantly.
My throat burns.
Hawk’s expression tightens.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs quickly. “Don’t try to talk yet.”
Baby.
The word sends a strange flutter through my chest.
My mind feels foggy.
Heavy.
But pieces of memory start creeping in.
The box.
Blood.
The note.
Found you.
My stomach drops.
My fingers tighten weakly around Hawk’s hand.
“The—” My voice cracks again.
My throat feels like it’s made of broken glass.
Hawk leans closer immediately.
“I got you,” he says quietly.
His thumb brushes across my knuckles slowly.
“Just breathe for a second.”
