“Don’t what?”
“Don’t act like what just happened was for my protection.”
I stop a few feet away. Close enough to reach her. Far enough to give her space. “It was.”
“It was a pissing contest,” she snaps, finally lifting her eyes to mine. “You and Sting and Rogue standing there like I’m some fucking trophy you won.”
“You’re not a trophy.”
“Then what am I?” Her voice cracks on the last word. “Because from where I’m standing, I’m something people fight over. Something peoplewantto circulate.” She spits the word like it’s poison.
I take a step closer. “You’re someone we’re keeping safe.”
“By claiming me in front of everyone?” Her laugh is bitter. “By making sure the whole Rot knows I belong to you?”
“Would you rather be subject to the whims of losers like those guys?”
The words hang in the air between us.
“The point,” I say, “is that if we don’t make it clear you’re ours, someone else will try to make you theirs. And they won’t be gentle about it.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again. Her shoulders sag. Her breathing slows, the tension bleeding out of her.
I slide one hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck, fingers curling into her hair. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere no one else goes.”
Her pulse jumps under my palm. “The secret room?”
“No. Somewhere better.”
The service stairwell is narrow and steep, concrete steps worn smooth by years of shuffling feet. I lead her up without a word, my hand at the small of her back, firm enough to guide, light enough she could pull away if she wanted.
She doesn’t.
At the top landing, I pull the black strip of cloth from my pocket. “Turn around.”
Vi hesitates, eyes searching mine in the dim emergency light. Then she does.
I tie the blindfold carefully, not tight, just enough to block sight. Her breathing quickens when the fabric settles over her eyes.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because no one finds this place unless we bring them.”
I open the heavy door. Cold air rushes out, carrying dust and faint sunlight. I guide her forward, one step at a time, until we’re inside. The door closes behind us with a dull thud.
I untie the blindfold. She blinks against the sudden golden light.
The Skylight Room is exactly as it always is, something forgotten turned sanctuary. Dusty concrete floor swept clean. Old metal shelving pushed against the walls, holding nothing now but shadows and the occasional crate. But above it all, the massive skylight stretches across most of the ceiling, clouded glass, cracked in places, letting soft outdoor light pour down in wide, lazy beams. A few thick wool blankets are layered in the center under the widest patch of sky. A single lantern sits on a low wooden crate, flame low and steady.
Vi turns in a slow circle, taking it in. Her fingers brush a shelf, come away dusted. She looks up at the glass, then back at me.
“This is... yours?”
“Ours,” I correct. “The three of us. No one else comes here. Ever.”
