His eyes drop briefly to the blood staining the bandage at my ribs.
The muscle in his jaw jumps hard.
Anger.
Fear.
Probably both.
“Later,” he says tightly.
Meaning the injury.
Meaning the conversation.
Meaning everything else hanging between us.
I nod once. “Later.”
If we survive long enough for later.
More gunfire cracks through the hallway outside.
Closer now.
Shouting follows.
Too close.
“They know you’re here,” I whisper.
“Yeah.”
Not worried.
Just focused.
Always focused.
Russ shifts beside me and presses a pistol into my hand automatically before checking the doorway again.
My fingers curl around the grip immediately.
Familiar.
Steadying.
His hand closes around mine briefly before letting go.
Warm.
Grounding.
“Stay with me,” he says quietly.
Not an order this time.
Something else.
