Dane's POV:
"Danny, I'd love to."
The words land softly—gentle, trusting—and I force myself not to look at her face when she says them.
Because if I do, I'll hesitate.
Whatever I'm doing, it's for her.
She'd been so distressed when I came home earlier.
Shaken in that quiet way that frightens me. Her voice steady, her hands not quite.
Now she looks… settled. Here with me. Grounded. Calm in a way that makes something ache behind my ribs, sharp and unwelcome.
The kind of ache that reminds you how much you stand to lose.
"But I don't know where we are," she adds . "I'm a doctor. I still need to be cleared to treat people."
" It's all handled."
I nod too quickly.
A fraction too eager.
Trying too hard to look reasonable, accommodating.
"And where would I be working?" she continues, eyes bright now, curiosity pushing through the lingering haze.
"Do they know I'm not a specialist?"
There it is—excitement.
Real excitement.
"All in good time, baby," I say, smoothing my tone, keeping it warm.
"You'll see tomorrow."
I don't want to ruin this moment.
Not when she's finally smiling again.
Not when the last few days have carved shadows under her eyes that she pretends aren't there.
I could do this forever—watch her, keep her like this.
Safe.
Happy.
She doesn't need to know what's out there.
I won't let anyone take this away from me.
The decision settles in my chest with a finality that surprises even me.
I lift her suddenly, on impulse, her weight light in my arms, familiar.
She laughs—soft and startled, the sound loose and unguarded, like it slipped out before she could stop it.
It hits me somewhere deep.
Right now, with her like this, everything feels worth it.
The blood.
The bodies.
The years spent burning my way through men who thought they were untouchable—and learned otherwise.
All of it.
When that picture dropped, for one sick, paralyzing second, I was sure I'd come home to an empty house. That she'd be gone. Taken.
Erased from my life like a poorly guarded file.
I'd already started planning what I'd do to whoever was responsible.
How long it would take.
How much it would hurt.
I carry her toward my room before my mind can argue me out of it.
This wing of the house is reinforced, sealed, harder to access from the outside.
Built with contingencies layered on contingencies.
"Danny…" she says as soon as we cross the threshold, flustered now, hands pressing lightly against my chest.
"This is your room."
I pause, just long enough to allow myself a sliver of humor.
"So?" I say lightly.
"You used to sleep in my bed all the time."
She stares at me like I've lost my mind.
"Yes—but that was different," she says, pointedly.
"How so?"
She doesn't answer.
Just grabs the nearest pillow and throws it at my head.
I don't dodge it.
A laugh tears out of me—deep, rough, unfamiliar.
It startles me as much as it does her.
I haven't heard myself laugh like that in years.
"I'm kidding," I say, still smiling.
"This room's better anyway. Cozier.
Just sleep here."
It sounds wrong the moment it leaves my mouth.
Too firm.
A command, whether I meant it to be or not.
"And where will you sleep?" she asks, completely missing the shift, her concern genuine.
"I've got work," I say.
"I'll be gone for a bit. Not long."
She opens her mouth, clearly ready to argue—but whatever she sees in my face stops her. The fight drains out of her, leaving only exhaustion.
Really tired.
Only now do I let myself notice it properly. The faint circles beneath her eyes.
The way her shoulders sag when she thinks no one is watching.
The almost invisible stain of dried tears on her cheekbone.
Did she cry?
Why?
The thought claws at me.
I cross the space between us and kiss the top of her head before she can look up and see my expression.
Before she can ask questions I'm not ready to answer.
I turn to leave.
Her fingers catch mine at the last second.
"Take care," she says quietly.
Something tightens in my chest, sharp and unwelcome.
I lock it down.
I nod once and leave without looking back.
My office is two blocks from GroundBase BL. Close enough to reach fast.
Far enough to keep certain things separate.
The moment I step inside, I call Ivan and Boris.
"Any lead on the picture?"I ask.
"None, sir," Boris replies.
"And it was taken down within five minutes."
My jaw tightens.
"Then they dropped another," He says.
A pause.
I stop breathing.
"It's outside a café in London," Ivan continues. "Timestamp—6:55 p.m."
"Send it."
The image loads slowly, each second stretching thin.
It's her.
Mid-step. Entering the café. Turning her head just slightly—Toward me.
It's the day we met.
The framing is intentional. Too precise.
Whoever did this could've hurt her.
But they didn't.
They want me watching.
They want me waiting.
They want me rattled.
Game on.
"Keep me posted," I say, already moving.
"I want everything. Cameras. Transit. Anyone who blinked in her direction."
I grab every file I can carry—paper, drives, backup copies—and head back home.
The house is silent when I return. The kind of quiet that makes you listen for breathing.
I sit in the library long after the fire burns down to embers, looking outside.
Far and Beyond.
The Korth revolver rests heavy in my palm. Solid. Familiar.
I roll it once, thumb brushing the grip out of habit.
A warning.
Daring anyone foolish enough to come for her.
I don't sleep.
I don't even blink properly.
I sit there all night, spine rigid, every sense stretched thin—terrified that if I close my eyes, something will slip past me.
That I'll miss the moment everything goes wrong.
I don't realize it's morning until she appears in front of me.
I hide the gun instantly, sliding it out of sight like a reflex.
"Danny," she says softly.
"Did you sleep?"
"Yes," I lie easily. "I slept here."
She looks around, taking in the untouched room, the cold fire, the tension in the air. Unconvinced—but she doesn't push.
Instead, she rests her hand on my shoulder.
The contact nearly breaks me.
"Go get ready," I say gently.
"We need to be there by eight."
"Yay—okay!" she says, already moving, energy so bright.
An hour later, she's beside me in the car.
Scrubs swallowing her frame.
Coat too big. Hair flowing carelessly.
Humming to herself like the world hasn't just tried to tear her apart.
I keep my eyes on the road.
I take her straight to the BL medical center.
Inside, I guide her toward the far east wing away from the noise.
She walks beside me, fingers laced with mine, eyes wandering everywhere.
Taking everything in.
Then we step inside the wing.
The air changes.
I feel it before she says a word.
"Danny…" she starts, confusion bleeding through her smile.
"This—this isn't what I do."
I don't stop walking.
"Yeah," I reply evenly.
"But this will be good for you."