Sabine pulled the blanket tighter around her. Her eyes stayed on the flickering images, but I could see the shift in her breathing, the way each inhale stretched a fraction longer than it had minutes ago.
Kara kept scanning her phone, jaw set. Whatever she was reading, it was already feeding into the next move. She stepped toward the hall, phone to her ear. The door shut softly behind her, leaving the low hum of the muted broadcast and the pop of the fire.
I stood and crossed to the kitchen. The stainless-steel fridge hummed quietly in the corner. I opened the freezer, scooped a handful of ice into a clean dish towel, and knotted the ends to keep the cubes in place.
Returning to the living room, I sat on the couch by Sabine's feet, staying level with her instead of standing over her. Her eyes tracked me. The news footage caught my attention again.
“That car accident wasn’t random,” I said.
She didn’t blink. “You’re saying it was them.”
“I’m saying the timing and method fit a pattern.”
Her jaw tightened. “And I’m next?”
“You are not next. You’re not alone here,” I said, letting the pause hold between us a moment. “We will keep you safe.”
Something in her gaze wavered: the hint of trust forming at the edges, not solid yet, but there. Like she wanted to believe me and hated that she might.
I reached for the ice and settled it over the bandage, adjusting until it lay evenly. “Tell me if it gets too cold or your foot goes numb.”
She gave a short nod.
Her attention dropped to my hands as I smoothed the edge of the cloth. I kept my touch light, practical. The urge to let it linger was there, steady as a heartbeat, but I shifted back to give her space.
For a second, I thought she might say something more, but she stayed quiet.
In the other room, Kara’s voice carried low and steady through the closed door. Whatever she was setting in motion, we would be ready for it.
A moment later, she came back into the living room, her steps echoing across the hardwood. She stopped near the end of the couch where Sabine and I sat.
“Perimeter’s clear,” she said. Her tone didn’t leave room for debate.
I nodded. “Motion sensors active?”
“Every zone,” she confirmed. “All boundaries are tied in with the cameras.”
I glanced toward the windows, their heavy curtains drawn tight. “Roving coverage?”
She shifted her weight, crossing her arms. “Half-hour intervals. No predictable pattern. The approach road stays covered at all times.”
Sabine’s gaze moved between us. She didn’t say anything yet, but her brows drew together just slightly, the first sign she was tracking more than we were telling her.
“And the others?” I asked.
Kara looked at me, then at her, as if weighing whether to answer in front of her. “Not too far out,” she said finally.
That landed. Her grip tightened on the blanket in her lap. She sat a little straighter. “Others?”
She didn’t answer right away, just studied Sabine in that unreadable way she had. It made most people stop asking questions. I stayed quiet as the pause played out.
“They’ll be here soon,” she said at last, still not offering more than that.
I caught the shift in Sabine's breathing, the quick blink she gave before fixing her eyes on Kara. Her suspicion wasn’t loud, but it was there.
“Full coverage when they arrive,” I added, meeting Kara’s eyes to confirm we were on the same page. “North sector first.”
She gave a single nod. “We’ll brief them when they get in.”
