That shit hits like a punch straight through me.
My grip loosens immediately, my other hand coming up slower this time, more careful than I’ve ever been in my life.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say, quieter now. Not cold. Not controlled.
Real.
“You hear me? I’m not them.”
My thumb brushes over her hand again, steady, grounding.
But inside, something shifts in a way I don’t like.
Relief that she’s alive.
Pride that she foughther way back.
And something heavier sitting right underneath it.
Because now I see it.
The fear they left behind.
The damage I can’t undo.
All I can do now…
is make damn sure nobody ever gets the chance to do that shit to her again.
I can tell the moment she’s more present.
Her eyes don’t just flicker open this time—they stay open, adjusting slowly, tracking the room instead of drifting through it. The confusion is still there, heavy behind her gaze, but it’s sharper now. More aware. More her.
Her fingers shift slightly in mine—not instinct.
Choice.
I lean forward just enough so she doesn’t have to strain to see me.
“Don’t try to move too fast,” I tell her quietly. “Your body’s still catching up.”
Her gaze moves over me, slower this time, studying instead of reacting. There’s no immediate panic—just confusion, layered with curiosity and something cautious.
“Where am I?” she asks, her voice rough but steadier than before. “This isn’t a hospital.”
“No,” I answer. “It’s a safehouse.”
Her brows pull together. “A safehouse?” she repeats, like she’s testing the word.
“Means you’re off the grid,” I say. “No one finds you unless I let them.”
Thatgets her attention.
Her eyes narrow slightly—not fear, just… trying to understand what that means. Who I am in all of this.
“And you are…?” she presses.
“Silas.”
