He snorts, but when his gaze lifts, it lands directly on mine—and something in it tightens. His smirk fades.
“You haven’t been sleeping.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Your eyes,” he says, nodding toward Damon’s tank. “You’re wearingthe same shade of purple this guy sometimes turns when he’s moody.”
I let out a weak laugh. Okay, fine. I did notice the dark circles in the mirror this morning and tried to convince myself it was just the bathroom lighting.
“I’ve been worried about him,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
He turns to Damon’s tank, studies the slow ripple of movement inside.
“How is he?”
“He seems… okay. Better than yesterday, I think. Thank you for helping. I know you were probably busy, but…” I trail off. “It means a lot.”
“It’s not a problem,” he says, eyes still on the tank. “That's why I’m here, actually.”
I freeze, water bottle halfway to my lips.
“You came to check on him?”
Holden rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I know you and Theo ran through a bunch of things yesterday. I just thought I’d take a look. See if there’s anything else.”
How’s Coralie taking it? If she’s not doing well, I can be there in an hour.
The message flashes in my mind. And Theo’s voice follows, low and certain:
I’ve seen him care about a lot of things. People. Work. Family. Me. And now you.
Could Holden care about Damon becauseIdo? The thought stirs something sharp and soft in my chest, but I push itdown. Holden’s already drawn the line. Already told me—gently, firmly—that there’s a boundary. A limit. And trying to move past it again would only leave me raw.
“That’s nice of you,” I manage.
He looks at me then, long and full of meaning, and his jaw tightens like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“We placed a vet request,” I say, shifting the subject. “Theo helped me, but… he said it might take a while.”
Holden nods. “I’ll see if I can expedite it.”
“Really?”
He hums, like it’s nothing. Like caring is just something he does, quietly, thoroughly, without needing a thank-you. I could hug him. I won’t. But I could.
I hand back his water bottle and slowly slide off the stool. My legs hold, barely, and Holden’s hand hovers near my waist—not touching, but close enough to catch me if I sway. I don’t. So he lets me go.
I toss the wrappers and pick up my tote.
“Do you have a tendency to save everyone this often?” I ask.
“No.”
“So you’re not secretly Superman?”
He chuckles. It’s low and warm and hits me square in the chest. “No, Coralie. I’m not.”
