He takes one step closer. Not aggressive. Measured. Controlled. “They didn’t try to grab you randomly,” he says. “They were waiting.”
My mind runs through it. The walk. The street. The timing. The way it happened so fast. Not random.
Targeted.
That word settles heavy.
My arms wrap around myself without me thinking about it. The gauze presses tighter into my skin. “I can’t stay here,” I say, quieter now.
“You’re not leaving tonight.” There’s no hesitation. No softness. Just fact.
My eyes snap up to his. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already did.” The words hit differently than they should. Not aggressive. Not threatening.
Final.
That’s what it is.
Something in my chest twists. Anger. Fear. Something else I don’t want to name.
He’s not asking.
The thought hits before I can stop it.
He already decided.
I hate that. I hate how much I hate it. And I hate that part of me… understands it. Because if what he’s saying is true, leaving isn’t freedom. It’s exposure. Ilook past him. At the room. At the people. At the structure. Then back at him.
He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t pushed. Hasn’t touched me. He’s just… there. Holding the line.
I exhale slowly. “I’m not staying forever.”
His expression doesn’t change. “For now works.”
That doesn’t make me feel better. It makes something colder settle in my stomach. Because it sounds like he means it doesn’t matter what I say later. Because it sounds like he already knows how this ends.
I hate that. But I also don’t move. Not forward. Not past him. And that might be worse than anything else. Because it means I chose. Not fully. Not forever. But enough. “For now,” I repeat.
His gaze holds mine for one second longer. Then he steps aside. Not like he’s letting me go. Like he’s letting me return. And I turn back toward the infirmary. Not because he told me to.
Because I know walking out that door tonight isn’t safe.
And that truth feels heavier than the fear ever did.
Leaving her feels wrong.
Not inconvenient. Not irritating.Wrong.
I stand outside the infirmary door with one hand braced against the frame, eyes cutting over every angle before I let myself move away. Brooke is inside with Olivia. Doc is there too, checking the IV site because Olivia ripped the damn thing out before she tried to leave. He grumbled about stubborn women and dangerous men while he worked, which earned him one sharp look from Brooke and nothing from Olivia.
She didn’t look at me when she went back into the room. Not directly. But she knew where I was. That was enough.
For now.
I scan the hall. Hammer posted one man near the side entrance. Cain has another at the end of the corridor. Tate is outside the infirmary, standing stiff enough to look like he’s trying to be carved from stone. Too young to pull it off, but smart enough not to talk. His eyes flick to me.
I hold his stare until his shoulders square. “No one else goes in except Brooke, Doc, or Logan,” I tell him.
