Blanket.
Cold air.
Regan’s arms around me.
Doc cursing because someone jostled the IV line.
Nate whispering, “This is very dramatic,” and someone smacking him in the back of the head.
Me hissing when my ribs screamed.
Edge saying my name like he could hold me together with the sound of it.
Then the outside.
Stars.
So many stars.
The world before dawn had a different kind of quiet. Not peaceful. Waiting. The compound lights were mostly off now, hidden behind buildings and shadows. No bikes roared. No headlights cut across the yard. Everything moved soft, low, secret.
Men became ghosts when they had to.
Royal Bastards knew how to vanish.
I felt that in the way they handed me from family to strategy, from bed to blanket, from clubhouse to dark. No loud voices. No wasted motion. No one saying goodbye like goodbye was allowed to become permanent.
The IV bag came with me.
Of course it did.
Because apparently we were doing outlaw medicine on horseback now.
“Hold it higher,” Doc snapped.
Nate lifted the bag. “I feel like a very underpaid nurse.”
“You are a very overtalkative idiot,” Doc said.
“I contain multitudes.”
“Contain them silently.”
Then horse smell.
Warm, earthy, alive.
I opened my eyes enough to see a dark horse standing near the back fence, ears flicking, breath steaming faintly in the cool hour before sunrise. Another stood behind it. Then another. Cal’s men must have brought them through the wash trail. No trucks. No trailers. No proof.
Just horses and darkness.
I hated horses.
Horses knew things.
They looked at you with those huge eyes like they were judging your entire bloodline.
This one looked at me and snorted.
