Drogo stared at her for a moment, something between disbelief and anger settling in his eyes before he spoke.
"Karen… what the hell?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
The guns in his hands dropped back into his coat as he moved toward her, quickly, then lowered himself beside her. She was still clutching her head, her body trembling under the weight of the pain, her breathing uneven.
Her eyes found his, wide amd teary.
"What… what are you doing here?" she forced out, her voice strained.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he slid one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees, lifting her carefully despite how tense she was, as if she might break apart if he handled her wrong.
She grabbed at his coat weakly, still trying to process. "How did… how the hell did you know I was here…?"
Her voice cracked.
The pain spiked again.
She gasped, her hand flying back to her skull as her body curled inward in his arms, and only then did he speak.
