Ragon stares at me. Reading me. Trying to find the bluff in it.
I give him nothing.
Whatever he finds in my face, it's enough.
His shoulders drop. Not completely—there's still fight in him, still the possessive fury simmering under the surface. But the immediate push is gone.
"This isn't finished," he says. He sounds quiet now. The kind of quiet that means he's thinking past tonight to what comes next.
"When she's clear-headed," I say. "If she wants to talk to you, that's her decision. Not mine. Not yours. Hers."
He holds my gaze for one more moment.
Then he steps back.
He walks away without another word. The sound of his feet on gravel fades and the night goes quiet again.
Malcolm exhales slowly behind me. Long and rough, like he's been holding that breath since Ragon started banging on the door.
"I wanted to put him through that door," he says.
"I know."
"He stood there and acted like—"
"I know." I turn. His expression is tight. Controlled but barely. "You held. That's what mattered."
He looks at me in silent understanding. Then he nods. I climb right back up the stairs.
At her door I lower myself back down to the floor.
Run my knuckles against the wood.
Ragon will be back. Whatever tonight did, it didn't finish everything. He'll come back with a plan instead of just rut-aggression, and when he does we'll need more than what we have right now. Chase needs to move faster. The case needs to be further along.
Tomorrow.
Tonight my job is this floor. This door. The gap at the bottom where her fingers found mine.
***
Hours later, my phone buzzes.
Finn: She's asking for you again.
Me: I'm here.
Finn: I know. She knows too. She can smell you through the door.
Finn: Malcolm's resting. I'm helping her through but it's not enough.
Me: I can't come in.
Finn: I know. I'm just telling you.
I set the phone down.
My hand finds the gap under the door again.
