leaving Christina
in the hands of it all.
The tires barely settled before the engine cut, but the silence that followed felt louder than the chase itself. Gravel snapped beneath the weight of the car, the echo swallowed by trees that stood too still, too deliberate—like even the land knew better than to exposethis place.
“Gate sealed. We’re clear,” Jace said, already scanning the monitors mounted into the dash, his fingers moving fast, pulling feeds, checking angles. “No tails. I lost them two miles back.”
Silas didn’t answer.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off her once.
Becca lay across his lap, unmoving, her body slack in a way that didn’t sit right in his chest. Her head rolled slightly with the shift of the car stopping, her hair brushing against his wrist, her skin too cold under his touch. There was blood—too much of it dried against her temple, streaked faintly along her jaw.
Wrong.
Everything about this was wrong.
“Silas—” Jace started.
The door was alreadyopen.
Cold air rushed in, but Silas didn’t feel it. He stepped out, lifting her in one controlled motion, his arms tightening around her like something inside him refused to risk even the smallest drop, the smallest shift. Her head fell against his chest, breath shallow but there.
Still there.
Still breathing.
“Inside. Now,” Jace called ahead.
The safe house door was already opening.
They’d been ready.
Two figures stood just beyond the threshold—a doctor and a nurse, both dressed in dark, unmarked scrubs, gloves already on, equipment laid out behind them like they’d been waiting for a storm to arrive.
Because they had.
“Set her down here,” the doctor said quickly, clearing space on the bed.
Silas didn’t move right away.
For half a second—just half—his grip tightened, like letting her go wasn’t an option his body understood.
“Silas,” Jace said, sharper this time.
That was the only thing that broke it.
He stepped forward and laid her down carefully, controlled, but there was nothing calm about the way he hovered immediately after, his hand still on her shoulder, like he needed to feel her there.
Alive.
“Head trauma,” the doctor said, already leaning in, fingers gentle but fast as he checked her pupils, her pulse. “Possible concussion. We need to assess for internal bleeding. How long was she out?”
“Too long,” Silas answered, voice low, tight.
The nurse moved to her wrists, her expression shifting as she saw the damage there. “Restraint injuries… she’s been fighting.”
“I know,” Silas snapped, the words sharper than intended—but he didn’t take them back.
