I snap.
I’m at her before the drop hits the floor.
“Let me see.”
“It’s fine?—”
“It’s not.”
Ryder’s conversation cuts off mid-sentence.
Finn’s head whips toward us.
I take her hand.
Her skin is warm. Pulse racing under my fingers. Not just from the cut, from fear. And that… that does something worse to me than the broken window did.
I press a clean towel to the slice, and she inhales sharply.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s just cold.”
No. She’s shaking.
Ryder steps closer but doesn’t interfere. He hovers near the end of the prep table, eyes flicking between her face and the window, calculating threat levels in real time.
Finn moves to the hallway entrance, planting himself there now. Guarding the interior instead of the alley.
I guide her to sit on the prep table, away from the glass. My hands don’t leave her. Not until she’s stable.
Ryder resumes his call quietly, turning slightly away to give space, but he doesn’t go far. Finn paces once, then stills, arms folded, jaw tight.
All I can see is the thin line of blood on her skin.
I rinse the cut under the sink. The water runs pink.
My jaw tightens so hard it hurts.
“This is my fault,” she whispers.
That makes me look up. “It’s not.”
“I defended you. I stood up. What if?—”
“No.”
Ryder glances over at that. Doesn’t comment.
“This isn’t because of you,” I continue. “This is because he wants a reaction. It’s Cole.”
My hands are calm, even though my chest isn’t.
I dry her finger carefully. Inspect the cut. It’s not deep. Clean slice. It’ll close.
Still feelstoo much.
“You shouldn’t have been near it,” I say.
