Darla shifts, expression soft but iron-backed. "You were a kid. Raised in a world where monsters wore suits and called it charity. You got out. That counts for more than you think."
Maggie makes a small, indignant sound. "If you think for one second we're letting you run off because of what some power-drunk bastard did with his money, think again. You belong here. End of story."
"I—" My voice catches. I nod instead, because speaking through the tightening in my throat will choke me.
Frankie has gone still in that way that makes the hairs on my arms stand, the way a room freezes right before a patient crashes. Pen forgotten, hands folded, eyes narrowed as though she's listening to something only she can hear. "He thinks he owns the story," she says finally. "Men with that kind of money always do. Hospitals, officials in his pocket. He thinks he's holding the script." Her gaze pins me. "He doesn't. You stepped out of his shadow and rewrote something he doesn't even know has changed yet."
Ruby, who's been vibrating with contained commentary, explodes. "Okay, first of all, your dad is absolutely on my personal smite list now. Second, if that man ever steps foot in this town, I am biting him."
Despite everything, a broken sound slips out of me, half laugh, half sob. "Ruby—"
"I'm serious. Full dentition. I will leave a mark. Then I'm stealing his car and making Nash dump it in the river."
Nash's mouth curves, barely. "Please stop volunteering my clean record for your bullshit," he says, mild in the way that hides sharp edges. Then his attention shifts to me, and the mildness drops. "If he does step foot in this town, you won't have to lift a finger. Point us to him. That's it." His gaze flicks to Knox, Malachi, East, James. "You are not short on men willing to get their hands dirty on your behalf."
Heat rolls up my chest, thick and overwhelming. It feels wrong for them to promise violence for me, and it feels necessary at the same time. The dissonance between those two truths makes the room tilt on its axis.
My knees threaten to give out. I can feel the wobble starting in my calves, the same pre-syncope warning I've watched a hundred patients ignore before they hit the floor. Knox closes the distance in two strides and steps into me from behind, hand bracing at my hip. His chest presses warm and solid against my shoulder blades.
"You're not going anywhere," he murmurs against the shell of my ear. "Not from this room. Not from me."
Frankie's phone buzzes on the coffee table. Just vibration against wood, but the way her whole body goes taut makes me notice. She glances at the screen, and urgency flashes across her face before she locks it down, jaw tightening, eyes going flat.
She stands abruptly, notebook forgotten. "I need to step out."
Malachi's eyes narrow. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah." Already moving toward the hallway. "Just need to check on something."
Arden pushes off the wall and follows without asking permission, as though it's already decided, and there was never a question.
Ruby watches them disappear. "That was suspicious."
"That’s Frankie," Candace says, settling back. "Everything she does looks suspicious."
But I caught the rest of it. Frankie's fingers white-knuckled around her phone before she pocketed it, and Arden's posture shifted from relaxed to alert in half a second, shoulders squaring as though he was bracing for something he'd been expecting. For a woman who just lost someone she clearly had feelings for, whatever those feelings were, Frankie's urgency looks less as though it comes from grief and more as though it's a crisis she's managing in real time. I file it where I file everything: in the back of my mind behind the patient charts, vital signs, and patterns I can't stop tracking even when I'm the one falling apart.
Knox's hand settles more firmly on my back. "You notice that?"
I nod, still watching the empty hallway. "That wasn't a casual phone call."
His thumb strokes my spine once. "We'll keep an eye on it."
The room settles back into motion. Ruby mutters about emotional labor. East shifts Darla closer. Maggie squeezes James's hand.
"You should know," I manage, "there's more. Not just my father. His connections. Men who operate the way Donovan did. Donors. Judges. If you start digging, you're going to kick up things that could get you hurt."
"Newsflash," East drawls, nothing lazy in his gaze. "We're already getting shot at and blown up. The bar for 'dangerous' is pretty high."
Malachi pushes off the table, stepping opposite me. His hand finds Candace's waist with an ease that speaks of muscle memory, and he draws her into his side. His eyes are darker than usual, storm-heavy, fury aimed past me at the men I've just named.
"We've been playing defense," he says. "Reacting to Donovan, to Alice, to bombs. What you just gave us? It's offense. You know the systems, the methods, the way these people move. We needed this."
"I didn't tell you to turn me into intel. I told you because I didn't want you blindsided by what he is. By what I used to be around."
"Those can be the same thing. We're not using you. We're listening to you." He looks around the room, tapping each of them as though he's assigning them to a mental battlefield. "This is how this goes. We bring Victor in. He's neck-deep in Donovan's network. This adds a branch." He nods at James. "Call him when we're done."
James grunts, agreement and anger braided in the sound.
