I look at him. See what he's not saying. "You planning to stick around? Be that family?"
"Don't know if I'm the right person for that."
"Why not?"
"Because I've spent years isolated learning to control what the field made me. Because I'm not exactly stable family material." His jaw tightens. "Because she deserves better than an uncle who's one bad day away from losing the control he's built."
"That's bullshit and you know it." I keep my voice level. Matter of fact. "You're not David. You're not going to destroyyourself trying to contain what you are. You think before you act. You maintain control even under pressure." I step closer, into him. "You're exactly the kind of family she needs—someone who understands trauma and survival without making it about himself."
He studies my face. That same careful assessment he uses for threat evaluation. Then his hand's at the back of my neck, grip firm, pulling me close enough that his mouth brushes my ear.
"You sound very sure about that," he says, voice gone rough and low.
Heat floods through me. "I am sure. Because I've watched you with her. Watched you connect without losing the edge that makes you who you are." My hands find his chest, feel the controlled tension in him. "You're not broken, Eli. You're just careful. There's a difference."
"Helena—"
"I'm not asking you to make promises you can't keep. I'm just saying you're better at this than you think. And Traci needs someone who shows up. Who stays. Who gives a damn." I pull back enough to meet his eyes. "You're already doing that."
He doesn't argue. Just absorbs what I'm saying with that focused intensity. His hand's still at my neck, thumb stroking the pulse point there—slow, deliberate pressure that makes it hard to think about anything except how those hands felt last night.
"When this is over," he says finally, "when Graves is dealt with and Traci's safe—I'm not going back to my cabin. Not going back to isolation."
"What are you going to do?"
"Figure out how to live with what I am instead of hiding from it. Stick around. Be the family Traci needs." His grip tightens slightly. Heat in his eyes that has nothing to do with tactical planning. "See where things go with a certain doctor who doesn't flinch when things get dark."
Before I can respond to that—before I can do something stupid like pull him into the nearest room and finish what his hands are starting—footsteps sound from the main room. Quick, urgent. Sheriff Zeke MacAllister appears in the hallway, his expression grim.
"We've got a problem," he says without preamble. "Just got intel from one of my contacts in the Marshals Service. Graves has confirmed you have Traci. He assumes she's talking. And he's mobilizing every remaining asset he's got."
The temperature drops.
"Timeline?" Eli asks, voice going flat. Tactical.
"Within the next day. Sooner if he pushes it." Zeke's jaw tightens. "This isn't reconnaissance anymore. This is the final push. Graves is coming himself with everything left in his arsenal. One last play to eliminate the witness before her testimony destroys him."
Eli's already moving. "We need to reinforce defensive positions. Optimize every field of fire. Make sure the northern approach is locked down."
"I'll help," Zeke offers.
They head toward the main room, leaving me standing in the hallway with the weight of what's coming settling over everything.
Yesterday Graves was mobilizing within days. Today it's within hours.
The timeline's accelerating. Graves knows we have the evidence. Knows Traci's testimony will destroy him.
And he's coming with everything he's got to eliminate the threat before it becomes unstoppable.
I head back to the infirmary. Traci's asleep, her breathing steady and even. Peaceful. She has no idea that the clock just accelerated from days to hours.
Everyone preparing for what comes next.
I stand in the doorway watching Traci sleep, and all I can think is: when Graves comes, this compound becomes a battlefield. And my job won't be stopping the assault.
It'll be keeping people alive after.
