Because he did know.
He could see it all over her.
The fight. The fear. The damage someone thought they had the right to leave on her.
Something dark coiled in his chest.
“BP’s low,” the nurse added. “We need fluids.”
“Do it,” Silas said immediately.
The roomshifted into motion.
IV kit opened. Monitors placed. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air as they worked over her, voices low but urgent, controlled chaos unfolding inches away from him.
Silas didn’t move.
Didn’t step back.
Didn’t breathe right.
His eyes stayed locked on her face, on every small reaction, every flicker—waiting for something. Anything.
“Silas,” Jace said again, quieter now, stepping closer. “They’ve got her.”
No.
They didn’t.
Not like he did.
Silas didn’t even look at him. “Find out who was there.”
Jace held his gaze for a second, then nodded. “I’m on it.”
He stepped out, the door closing behind him, cutting the room down to silence except for the steady beeping of the monitor now hooked to her.
And Silas… still hadn’t moved.
The doctor glanced at him briefly. “We need space to work—”
“You have it,” Silas said, his voice calm in a way that didn’t match the storm sitting behind his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The doctor didn’t argue.
Didn’t dare.
So they worked around him.
Minutes stretched.
Too slow. Too quiet. Too still.
Silas’s gaze dropped to the bruising forming along her collarbone, the faint marks along her arms, the way her fingers twitched once—barely there—and then went still again.
His jaw tightened.
“Who touched her?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
