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His eyes close, and his hand stays exactly where it is against my face.

“That was intended as an explanation,” I clarify.

“I know what it was intended as,” he says without opening his eyes.

“Okay.”

“Just—” Baryn's voice catches, and he stops long enough to swallow. His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck. “Can I have five fucking seconds to hold you before you explain anything else?”

There are several reasons I could give him for why that isn't necessary.

For once, I keep all of them to myself.

He pulls me against him, and there is nothing careful about it this time. His arms close around me hard enough that I can feel how badly he's shaking, one hand pressing against the between my shoulder blades like he needs the physical confirmation that I'm actually here.

My body seems to understand before the rest of me does that the threat is over. I'm not in fight-or-flight anymore. I don't need another exit or to know where Ian is standing. I don't need to calculate my distance from the river or keep track of every variable that could become dangerous if I stop paying attention.

Baryn is here.

The first sob catches me completely by surprise.

His arms tighten around me. “Hey. I've got you.”

I press my face against his chest because I don't want him to see me cry, which is ridiculous considering he can almost certainly feel it soaking through his shirt.

“I was so scared.” The admission comes out muffled and embarrassingly small.

Baryn makes a sound against my hair. “I know.”

“No.” I pull back enough to look at him. “I was really scared.”

He cups the back of my neck, carefully avoiding the place Ian hit me, and presses his forehead against mine. “So was I.”

Sirens are audible somewhere in the distance now.

None of it feels particularly important anymore. Baryn pulls back just far enough to look at me.

He kisses me before I can recover, so carefully that I have to lean into him to make it an actual kiss.

He came for me.

I didn't need him to save me.

I just needed him to come.

And he did.

31

BEYOND REASONABLE DOUBT

SERENA

By the following afternoon, I have been medically cleared, stitched, medicated, instructed to rest, and asked whether I feel safe going home so many times that the question has begun to feel vaguely threatening.

The CT scan was clear. The cut on the back of my head required four stitches. My wrists are bandaged, the bottom of my left foot looks like mince meat, and every muscle from my shoulders to my knees spent the night developing individual grievances.

None of it is particularly concerning. This is what I have been told by three separate medical professionals.