“Exactly.”
“So, what,” I say. “You want me to start carrying… what, a weapon?”
“I want you to consider additional protection,” he replies carefully.
“Define ‘protection.’”
“Non-lethal options, for starters,” he says. “Situational awareness tools. Defensive training beyond what we cover here. Maybe take some self-defense classes or something. At least, look through your rig, have something in mind that you could use for defense if you ever need to. You can’t have a gun or anything back there, obviously, but… have something in mind. Look, I know I’m hard on you during training sims, but you’re a good EMT and you… well, you look like those women that are getting taken. I’d hate for something to happen.”
I’ve never seen him… I don’t know,notact like a prick. But he’s actually worried about my safety. “Oh my God, youdohave a heart.”
He frowns at me instantly. “I’m not heartless, Carter.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t tease. And I’ll look into it,” I clarify. “Additional protection. Training. Whatever makes sense.”
He nods once. “Good.”
I push off the lockers, grabbing my bag. “And Daniels?” I add.
“Yeah?”
“You’re nice when you’re being caring,” I give him a cheeky grin then turn to leave, trying to ignore the weight of the conversation still lingering in my mind.
As I step out of the building, the air hits cooler than I expect, a faint breeze brushing against my skin. The world outside looks the same as it always does. Cars pass, people move, and there’s nothing obviously wrong. But it feels different now. Like there’s something just beneath the surface, waiting.
I adjust my grip on my bag, eyes scanning a little more deliberately than before.
Not just a one-time check, ongoing and constant.
Because Daniels is right. Danger doesn’t always announce itself. And next time, it won’t be a simulation.
And apparently even Daniels can tell that the ring is a bigger problem than city officials are letting on.
Chapter 43
Alex
The manor is too quiet tonight. Not the usual kind, but the kind that comes with isolation, with distance from the world. This is different, thicker and weighted. Like the house is holding its breath.
I stand at the far end of the hallway, watching the soft glow of light spill from beneath her door.
She didn’t lock it again. We’ve gone to bed in separate rooms almost every night that she’s been staying here. Then once Dad’s gone to bed, I make my way to her room.
It’s a small thing. Most people wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t understand what it costs her to leave that barrier open, even a fraction.
But I do. Because I was the one who taught her to need it.
My jaw squares, the thought settling in like something sharp under the skin. I push off the wall and walk past her door without stopping.
That, too, is deliberate. Trust isn’t something I get to take. It’s something she gives, carefully, reluctantly, and piece by piece.
And I don’t get to ruin that again.
The kitchen smells like melted butter when I step inside. She’s already there. Of course she is. Liv stands at the stove, hair pulled back in a loose tie that’s already slipping, a few strands falling around her face. She’s wearing one of the oversized shirts she claimed from my old room. The soft fabric hangs loose and stretched around her frame, sleeves hanging to her elbows.
Bare legs. No shoes. So domestic, so normal. She could look just as comfortable dressed like this in her apartment, mine, or in a future home. Just the two of us, or maybe three, her belly swollen with my-
“You’re hovering again,” she says without turning around. Good thing too, because that means that she didn’t see me jump when she pulled me out of my thoughts so suddenly.
