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It won’t.

The planner is gone. The one thing taken from this apartment is the one thing that tells someone how she lives. My blood goes still in a way that has nothing to do with calm. This wasn’t a robbery. It was preparation.

Maggie’s face loses color as the realization sinks in. She stands near the desk with one hand gripping the edge, her knuckles pale against the wood, while clothes and papers lie scattered across the room around us. The bedroom is too small for what I feel. Too ordinary for the kind of violence moving through my mind. Someone came into her home, stood where I’m standing, touched her belongings, searched her drawers, and took what would help them reach her again.

“Maggie,” I say.

She blinks once, but she doesn’t look at me. “That planner had everything.”

“Which is exactly why they took it.”

“My schedule.” Her voice shakes, and she presses one hand against her stomach as if she can hold herself together that way. “Shelter appointments. Fundraisers. Doctor stuff. Mama’s diner hours each week. It had my life in it.”

I look toward Luka, who’s standing near the bedroom doorway with his phone in hand. Viktor is near the window, his injured arm secured against his chest while he checks the latch with his good hand.

“Anything?” I ask.

Viktor looks over his shoulder. “No sign of tampering.”

Luka lowers his phone. “Front door shows no damage.”

Maggie laughs once, but there’s no humor in it. “Well, that’s real reassurin’.”

I turn back to her. She’s trying hard to look unaffected. Her shoulders are squared, her chin lifted, but her fingers tremble, and her breathing remains uneven.

“Who has a key?” I ask.

“Me. Mr. Harrison has a spare for maintenance emergencies.” She swallows and looks around the bedroom again. “Mama has one somewhere, but she never uses it. Jules has one for emergencies too, but he would have told me if he came by.”

I step closer, placing myself between her and the worst of the mess without thinking about it. “You’re not staying here.”

Her mouth opens, but no argument comes out. That alone tells me how badly the apartment has changed for her. Maggie would argue with a hurricane if she thought the wind was being unreasonable. Now she looks toward the bed, the open drawers, the overturned basket near the closet, and I watch the fight drain from her shoulders.

“I can’t,” she says.

Two words. Small enough to sound defeated. Honest enough to make me want to put my fist through the wall.

Instead, I control my voice. “Pack what you need. We’ll take the rest later.”

Her brows pull together. “I don’t even know what I need.”

“Then we take what’s necessary for tonight.”

She drags a hand through her hair and lets out a slow breath. “I already have clothes at your house.”

“You’ll take more.”

She gives me a tired look. “Bossy even during a break-in.”

“Yes.”

The edge of her mouth moves like she might smile. It disappears almost as fast as it appeared, but I see it. I take the victory because there are too few of them right now.

“Give us a minute,” I tell Luka and Viktor.

They leave without comment.

Maggie crouches near the dresser and begins gathering clothes from the floor. Her hands move quickly, without purpose, folding one shirt and then abandoning it for another. She picks up a pair of socks, stares at them as though she has no idea what they are and drops them back onto the carpet.