“No. The break is clean. It will heal well.”
She exhales, long and shaky, and sits in the chair I vacate. Her hands cradle Ethan’s uninjured hand, her thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles in a rhythm she must have used when he was a baby.
Her eyes find mine.
“Who did this?” she asks softly.
The question hangs in the room with a gravity that tightens against my ribs.
“It appears he was targeted,” I answer carefully.
“Targeted how?”
I hold her gaze. “He was approached. It wasn’t random, and it wasn’t opportunistic.”
Her brows knit together, a faint crease forming between them.
“Because of you?” she asks.
There it is. The guilt I shoved down in the corridor rises again, thin and persistent.
I move to the other side of the bed and rest my hand lightly on Ethan’s shoulder, steadying myself.
“This situation is connected to things already in motion,” I reply. “It didn’t begin with me.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her eyes are focused and clear. She deserves honesty without panic.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “It’s connected to me.”
The words leave my mouth, and I watch her take them in without recoiling.
“Are we in danger?” she questions.
The truthful answer isn’t simple.
“Yes, technically. But we’re being cautious,” I tell her. “There are people ensuring that.”
“People?”
“Kiren,” I clarify.
At his name, her expression changes, not suspicious but attentive, considering the implication without rushing to judgment.
“He was here?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That this won’t happen again.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes.”
The answer comes easily. That’s what surprises me.
