"You're not going to lose us," I tell her. "We're seeing this through. All of us."
Footsteps in the hallway. Eli appears in the doorway, still carrying the tension of combat in how he holds himself. He looks at Traci, then at me, reading the situation.
He crosses the room and kneels, bringing himself to her level. His presence fills the space with controlled intensity, but there's something in how he looks at her that acknowledges her fear without treating her as fragile. Something that carries the violence he just unleashed but holds it back for her.
"They tried," he says, voice flat. "We stopped them." Pause. "If they come back, we’ll stop them again." His eyes don't leave hers. "You are not alone. Not while I'm breathing."
She studies his face, searching for truth in the darkness there. Then she nods once, sharp and decisive.
She pulls the blanket around her shoulders. Exhaustion settling in now that adrenaline has faded.
I stand. "Try to rest. We'll be right outside if you need anything."
She nods, already curling into the bed.
We step into the hallway. Traci locks the door behind us. I hear the click, then silence.
Eli's removed the tactical vest but still carries himself like someone ready to go back into combat at a moment's notice. Blood on his sleeve, dirt on his pants, expression carefully neutral.
"She okay?" he asks.
"As okay as anyone can be after what she just experienced." I study his face, see the tension in his jaw, the way he's holding himself too still. "What about you?"
"Managing."
"That's what David always said." I keep my voice level. "Right up until he wasn't."
Eli's expression shifts. Something darker surfaces before he locks it down. "I'm not David."
"No, you're not. You're trying to process this instead of pretending it doesn't affect you." I step closer. "But you're also running on combat adrenaline and eventually that's going to crash. When it does, you don't have to handle it alone."
He looks at me for a long moment. Calculating. Assessing whether accepting help is weakness or practical necessity.
"Why?" he asks finally.
"Because I care what happens to you." I step closer. "Because I watched you fight tonight and I'm done pretending I don't want this."
His hand comes up. Rough calluses brush my jaw, touch controlled but the violence still hums beneath it. Just under the surface.
"After we’re sure Traci's asleep." Voice drops, goes rougher. "My room."
Not a question. A statement of intent delivered with the same direct honesty I brought to the conversation.
Heat floods through me despite exhaustion and stress and the blood still soaking my clothes from treating casualties.
"Okay," I manage.
He holds my gaze for another beat, then steps back. Returns to defensive mode, checking the perimeter one more time before settling into watch rotation.
I head to the bathroom to clean up. Wash blood from my hands, change into clothes that don't smell like gunpowder and copper. The mirror shows exhaustion in the lines around my eyes, but there's something else there too. Something that looks like anticipation.
Dangerous territory when there might be another assault. But Eli's right—might as well have something worth surviving for.
An hour later, I check on Traci, pressing my ear against the locked door. I can hear her breathing steady and even. She’s asleep. Door still locked from inside. Safe as we can make her.
I find Eli in his room at the end of the hallway. He's cleaned up. Changed clothes, washed away blood and cordite. But the combat's still there in how he moves, how he tracks me crossing the threshold. Predator watching prey.
"Traci's asleep," I say.
