"Malnourished. Dehydrated. Couple of cracked ribs, old ones, mostly healed." Nate's voice was easy, conversational, like he was discussing the weather instead of documenting abuse. He had that gift, making terrible things feel manageable just by being calm about them. "The bruising's extensive but nothing's actively bleeding. You're lucky."
"Lucky." Seth's voice was flat.
"Relatively speaking."
"Relative to what? Dead?"
Nate smiled. It was smile that had disarmed harder men than Seth: warm, crinkle-eyed, the smile of a man who genuinelyliked people even when they were being difficult. Especially when they were being difficult.
"Relative to what I've seen. You're walking, talking, and pissing me off. That puts you ahead of the curve."
Seth's mouth twitched. Not a smile. But not not a smile.
Zain stood in the doorway and watched. Leaning against the frame arms crossed, anything but casual.
Marcus appeared beside him. Quiet, the way Marcus always was, moving through spaces like he'd been born in them. He was the oldest of them at forty-three, silver threading through close-cropped black hair, and he carried authority that came not from volume but from certainty. Marcus always thought three moves ahead of everyone in the room.
"The others?" Zain asked, low.
"Nate's people are handling them. Hospital for the worst cases, the network for the rest. We'll have names and statements by morning."
"And this one?"
Marcus looked at Seth. Looked at Zain looking at Seth. His expression gave away nothing, which meant it gave away everything.
"He stays here tonight. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."
"He doesn't trust us."
"Smart kid."
"He's not a kid. Mid-twenties, maybe."
"He's young enough to still be angry about what happened to him instead of numb." Marcus paused. "That's useful."
Zain didn't like the worduseful.Didn't like what it implied about how Lakefront might leverage this sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued man who'd been caged like an animal and come out fighting.
But he didn't say that.
Marcus left. Nate finished his examination, told Seth to eat something and sleep, and disappeared upstairs. The safehouse settled into its late-night quiet, the hum of Ghost's servers from the basement, the creak of old pipes, the distant bass of whatever Jack was listening to in his room.
Seth sat on the couch and didn't move.
Zain pulled a chair into the common room, positioned it between Seth and the door, and sat down.
"You don't have to guard me," Seth said. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I know."
"Then why are you sitting there?"
"Because you don't know that yet."
Seth blinked. For a moment, the anger cracked, and something else looked out, something young and exhausted and scared. Then the wall went back up, quick as a blink.
"I don't know how to do that," Seth said quietly. "Just... sit somewhere and feel safe."
The words hit Zain in a place he'd thought was calcified. A place he hadn't accessed since the day his partner on the force had looked him in the eye and lied about the evidence they'd both seen, and the system had believed the lie because the system had been built to believe men who looked like his partner and doubt men who looked like Zain.
