Because there's something in his voice—something cold and certain and absolutely lethal—that tells me he's not just saying it.
He meansit.
Every word.
I lean back against the pillows, exhaustion pulling at me again. My ribs ache. My head throbs. My entire body feels like it's been through hell.
But my mind is sharp.
Sharper than it's been in days.
And I know one thing for certain.
I'm not the same person I was before.
I can't be.
Not after this.
Not after everything.
Silas stands slowly, moving toward the door.
"Get some rest," he says quietly. "I'll be right outside."
"You're always right outside," I mutter.
He pauses, glancing back at me.
"Yes," he says simply. "I am."
And then he's gone.
The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm alone again.
But not really.
Because I can feel him.
Just beyond that door.
Watching.
Waiting.
Protecting.
And I don't know if that makes me feel safer or more trapped.
Maybe both.
I close my eyes, my breath evening out as exhaustion pulls me under again.
But before I drift off, one thought lingers.
I'm not leaving here the same person I was.
And neither is anyone who put me there.
