“No,” he said.“But there’s mud on the sill.”
My blood went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone was close enough to touch the glass.”His tone went grim.“And close enough you were supposed to hear it.”
“Oh my god,” I whispered.
Prime shut the window with a soft click and locked it.Then he turned and cupped my face with both hands before I could spiral.
“Look at me,” he said.
I looked.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did he try to open the window?”
“No.”
Prime exhaled through his nose.“Then he wanted to scare you.That’s it.”
“That’s it?”I squeaked.“That’s NOT comforting.”
“It’s better than the alternative.”
I swallowed.“Prime… he was right there.”
“Yeah.”His thumb brushed my cheekbone.“And he’s never getting that close again.”
The conviction in his voice was so absolute it shut down every terrified thought banging around in my skull.
I grabbed his forearm.“What do we do?”
“You stay with me,” he said immediately.“You breathe.You let the club sweep the perimeter.And you don’t let this rattle you.”
I huffed.“Too late.”
He leaned down a little, closing the space between us.“You’re shaking.”
I was.
Hard.
He slid a hand around my waist and guided me to sit back on the bed.“I gotta get Anchor.”
“No,” I whispered, gripping his wrist before he could move.“Don’t leave yet.Just… just give me one more minute.”
Something flickered in his eyes.Something raw.Something protective enough to burn.
“One minute,” he agreed, voice softer than I’d ever heard it.He pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text to who I assumed was Anchor.
He sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, alert, but close enough I could feel warmth radiating off him.
I tried to breathe slow.That failed.The shaking wouldn’t stop.
