Three days and three nights.
“You lost a lot of blood,” he added. “The bullet grazed. It missed anything vital.”
He said it like a report.
But his hand was wrapped around the armrest so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
She tried to sit up. But pain flared.
He was on his feet immediately.
“Don’t move,” he commanded.
One hand braced her shoulder, while the other adjusted the pillows with efficient care.
Once she was settled, he stepped back, only an inch, close enough that she could still feel the warmth of him.
She looked at him.
His jaw flexed. “You are not allowed to do that,” he said.
“To do what?”
“To step in front of me.”
A faint smile pulled at her lips despite the ache. “I didn't step,” she said. “I pushed.”
His breath left him like she'd knocked it out.
For a second, something dark crossed his face. “You could have died.”
“But I didn't.”
“That isn't the point.”
“It is to me,” she said.
Silence stretched between them.
He moved closer again.
“I had everything covered,” he said, his voice low. “Security perimeter. Water patrol. Snipers across the ridge.”
“I know.”
“You don't.”
“I do,” she said. “You don't miss details.”
His eyes lifted to hers. She could see the tormented look inside.
“And yet you saw something my entire security team didn't.”
She held his gaze. “I saw the reflection shift in the water. The angle of the oar was wrong. Too steady. Tourists don't hold a paddle like that.”
He was quiet for a moment.
She could see him replaying it. Reconstructing what she had seen, from her angle, through her lens.
