His movements are slower now.
Careful.
But still controlled.
Still deliberate.
He dials.
Puts it on speaker.
“Sawyer,” he says when the line picks up, his voice back to that calm, commanding tone like nothing just happened. “I need a cleanup. Sammy’s already here.”
There’s a pause on the other end.
“Where am I?”
Benji’s arm tightens around me.
“Stargazer,” he replies. “Suite level.”
Another beat.
“Handled?”
Benji glances down briefly.
At the body.
Then back at me.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It’s handled.”
“Sit tight,” Sawyer responds. “I texted Sammy. He’ll take care of it.”
The line clicks off.
And just like that—it’s done.
Or at least, the worst of it is.
Benji lowers the phone, his hand finding mine again immediately.
Squeezing.
Grounding.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, softer this time.
And I believe him.
Even with blood on the floor.
Even with the world still spinning.
Even with everything that just happened—I believe him.
Because he stood between me and death.
