The hours blurred together. At some point, Jojo convinced me to drink a glass of water. Hooper brought me a clean shirt, which I didn’t bother to put on. My only job was to keep Danny awake and alive. Every so often, I’d lean in and whisper his name. Sometimes he’d answer, sometimes he’d just squeeze my hand in response.
The sun rose, and the kitchen filled with cold blue light. Danny was still there, still breathing, still holding on.
I traced the line of his jaw, careful not to touch the bruises. “You’re safe,” I said, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. “I promise.”
And I meant it, even if I had to burn the whole town to keep it true.
We moved him to the guest room just before noon, when the sun had finally warmed the old house enough that it didn’t sting your skin to sit still. Jojo insisted on fresh sheets and aspace heater, like maybe those things could erase the bruises. Danny was out cold, drooling a little on the pillow, bandages crisscrossing his chest and arms.
The room itself was nothing—just a bed, a battered dresser, and a view of the back pasture that would’ve been beautiful if you were in any shape to enjoy it. But the air was quiet, the sheets soft, and the door had a lock.
All upgrades, as far as I was concerned.
I sat beside the bed, elbows on my knees, trying to run the math on what happened next. Would Dennis show up, chest out and ready to start a war? Would Danny ever be able to look in a mirror again without seeing the ghosts of last night? My brain wanted to spiral, but I didn’t let it. There was a job to do, and the job was keeping the kid in one piece.
Danny woke up around one, blinking groggily at the ceiling. I could tell the painkillers were doing their job by how long it took him to realize where he was.
“Hey,” I said, soft as I could manage.
His eyes found me, unfocused but alive. “Is this… your place?”
I nodded. “You’re safe. You made it. You want water?”
He looked confused, then shook his head and immediately regretted it.
Jojo appeared in the doorway, a mug of tea in hand. “I brought chamomile. It’s good for—” He stopped himself, then just smiled and set it on the nightstand. “If you need anything, holler.”
“Thanks,” Danny said, but his voice cracked halfway through.
Hooper showed up next, clutching a beat-up backpack like it was radioactive. He didn’t come all the way in; just tossed the thing onto the bed and stood back.
“Found this out by the equipment shed,” he said. “Figured you’d want it.”
Danny stared at the backpack, then picked it up with both hands. I watched his face change, the way hope and dread played tug-of-war across his features. He unzipped it, slow, like he was defusing a bomb.
A couple of shirts. A phone charger with the cord chewed half through. A spiral notebook, stained with dirt, but mostly intact. He dug around for a minute, then slumped back.
“He destroyed my laptop,” he said, voice flat. “And my books. All of it. He—” His hands shook, knuckles white on the straps. “I’ve got nothing left.”
For a moment, the room went still. Even Hooper, who usually found a way to joke about anything, just looked at the floor.
Danny wiped at his face, tried to hide it, but the tears kept coming anyway. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I’m being… I just…”
He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to. I reached out, thumb brushing the tears away. He flinched, but he didn’t pull back.
“Listen to me,” I said, holding his gaze. “You did the hardest thing in the world. You survived him. That’s not nothing. That’s everything.” He tried to argue, but I shushed him. “You’re here. And you’re not alone anymore.”
His breathing slowed. The tears didn’t stop, but they came quieter. After a minute, he just closed his eyes and let the world catch up to him.
Hooper cleared his throat. “If you want, I can fix the charger,” he said. “Maybe even the laptop, if you got the pieces.”
Danny almost smiled. “You’d do that?”
Hooper shrugged, face unreadable. “Yeah. I like a challenge.”
Jojo came back in with a bowl of soup and a fresh set of gauze pads. “We’re not letting you go hungry,” he said, in that gentle way only Jojo could. “And we’re not letting you heal wrong, either. That’s a Rawley rule.”
From the hallway, Rawley’s voice carried in: “Damn right.”
