"So are you."
"I'll sleep when I know you're settled." He leans against the wall. Arms crossed. "Take the bed."
"Where will you—"
"Chair's fine. Or the floor. Doesn't matter."
"Marcus—"
"Nora." He looks at me with those dark eyes. "Please. Just let me make sure you're okay. Then I'll rest. Deal?"
It's not a deal. It's him giving everything and asking for nothing.
But I nod anyway. Because arguing feels wrong when he just saved my life. When he's standing there like a wall between me and everything that wants to hurt me.
"Okay," I whisper.
I change in the bathroom. Wash my face with cold water that makes me feel almost human. When I come back out, Marcus is exactly where I left him. Watching the door. Always watching. I climb into the bed. The sheets are clean and smell like detergent. Nothing like home because I don't have a home anymore, but Marcus is three feet away.
And for the first time since I ran, that feels like enough.
"Marcus?" My voice is almost like a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." Before he can tell me to stop, I add, "I know you don't want to hear it. But I need to say it anyway. You didn't have to do any of this. And you did. So, thank you."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then—
"Get some sleep, Nora."
Not *you're welcome*. Not *it's nothing*. Just an acknowledgment that I spoke. That he heard.
It's enough.
I close my eyes.
Try to sleep.
Can't.
My brain won't shut off. Won't stop replaying the past twenty-four hours on an endless loop. The men in the parking lot. Marcus stepping between us. Dinner in his apartment. His broken front door. Three men on the floor. Blood. Motorcycles. The Savage Riders.
All of it crashes together until I can't tell where one moment ends and another begins. I roll onto my side. Then my back. Then my other side.
The bed is comfortable. The room is quiet. I should be exhausted. I am exhausted. But sleep feels impossible when my heart won't stop racing. When every sound makes me think Castellano's men have found us again.
"You okay?" Marcus's voice cuts through the darkness.
Of course he's awake.
"Can't sleep," I admit. "Sorry. I'm trying not to… I don't want to keep you up."
"I'm already up."
"You should rest. You fought three men tonight. You must be—"
"I'm fine." A pause. "And I don't sleep much anyway."
