The room blurred.
I stared at the IV.
At the tape on my skin.
At the clear line keeping me steady while the whole world outside this room got ready to tear me apart.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
I hated that one too.
Hated it more because Dylan saw.
He moved before he seemed to think better of it.
One step.
Then another.
His hand lifted slowly, giving me time to move away if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
He brushed the tear from my cheek with the side of his finger.
Not soft exactly.
Careful.
Like he was touching something breakable and dangerous at the same time.
Regan went very still.
Edge’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak.
Dylan dropped his hand immediately, like the contact burned.
I should have looked away.
I didn’t.
“I wanted to thank you,” I whispered.
His expression tightened.
“If you hadn’t been there,” I said, voice shaking now, “if you hadn’t cleaned this up for me and gotten me out of there, I’d be handcuffed in a hospital bed right now.”
“Yes,” he said.
No comfort.
No lie.
Just truth.
My stomach twisted.
“And they would never let you out of that handcuff,” he added.
