Her shoulders sagged against me, like something inside her finally let go. Not peace. Not relief. Just the first moment she wasn’t bracing for the next hit.
Then came the knock.
Firm. Controlled.
Doc.
I didn’t move. Just raised my voice enough to carry. “She’s safe.”
“I know,” Doc said gently. “But she needs fluids. Food. Rest.”
Amanda didn’t react. Not even a flinch.
Doc paused. Lowered his voice. “You both do.”
“We’ll handle it,” I said.
Footsteps retreated. The hallway went quiet again.
Amanda curled tighter into my chest like the world had finally gone dim enough to rest. Her breathing slowed. Her grip loosened.
She fell asleep right there. No warning. No fight left. Just exhaustion taking what it was owed.
I stayed exactly where I was.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t sleep.
My hand rested between her shoulder blades, counting every breath. My other stayed close to the nightstand, muscle memory sharp and ready.
Because this wasn’t just fear anymore.
This was intent.
Someone had walked too close.
And I was done letting them think they could.
No one was taking her.
Not past me.
Not alive.
16
AMANDA
The compound was quiet.
Not peaceful kind of quiet. It was never peaceful.
But as if the chaos had settled into something sharper. Focused.
Doors were locked. Patrols rotated like clockwork. Guns were cleaned and checked with clinical precision. Cap’s orders rolled through the halls like thunder, steady and loud and always followed.
But under all of it, I could feel it.
