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“I don’t…er…nothing.”

“Nothing?” I motion to her. “You’re covered in…something, and you’ve obviously been crying.” Now that I’m closer, I note that one of the straps of her dress is torn.

Oh, fuck no.

Without thinking, I gently but firmly grab her arm. “Did Roger hurt you?”

It’s like she’s been in a trance but my touch snaps her out of it. She yanks free and narrows her eyes in my direction. “No! Leave it alone, Rage.”

“I won’t.” I prevent her from walking around me. “What did he do?”

“Nothing!” She shoves at my chest, though it’s about as effective as it would be coming from a toddler.

“Luna.”

“Rage.”

We glare at each other.

Finally, as if she realizes she’s going to lose this battle, she sighs. “I had an accident. That’s all. And it’s…embarrassing.”

“Tell me anyway.” I fold my arms across my chest, waiting. Because if he so much as stepped on her toe, I’m going to break both of his legs.

She scowls. “Can you just leave it alone?”

“No.”

“Rage.” She pulls in a soft breath. “I’m sticky and wet and need to clean up so I can get to work. Can we⁠—”

“Tell me. Now.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” She throws up her hands, almost clocking me in the face with one of her platform heels. “I slipped. Okay? When I went down, I took a waiter with me and he dropped two orders of pasta on me. Roger tried to help, but when he started to lift me, he slid in the sauce and he went down too. Then the waiter tried, but I turned my ankle and couldn’t put any weight on it, so I went down a second time.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Then they both tried, and in their efforts to get my fat ass up off the floor, my dress ripped. Okay? Are you happy now?”

I feel a million emotions in that moment.

Frustration.

Relief.

Anger.

I can only imagine how humiliating that was for her, and I fucking hate it.

“Did you just call yourself fat? You are not fat,” I say gruffly, eyes never leaving her face. “How bad is your ankle?”

“It hurts but it’ll be okay once I clean up and put some ice on it.” She starts to take a step. “Can I go shower now?”

“Hang on.” Then I speak into my earpiece. “Mark, can you take watch for a few minutes?”

“On my way,” he responds.

“Rage, I’m fine. I have clean clothes in my locker and⁠—”

“Stop.” I hold up a hand, cutting her off.

She gives me an annoyed look, but I don’t care. I can’t leave the front of the building unattended but I’m not going to let her walk all the way to the showers at the back of the building on a potentially broken or sprained ankle.

“I’m here,” Mark calls. “Hey, Luna, are you—” He stops. “What’s on your dress?”