Ellie leaned against the counter, shoulders loose but gaze sharp. “Busy on the perimeter.”
The words landed heavier than I wanted them to. Busy meant armed, alert. My stomach tightened around the food in front of me.
“What does that mean exactly?” I pressed.
She took a slow drink from her mug before answering. “It means they’re doing their job. Watching the tree line, checking cameras, making sure no one gets close.”
The calm in her voice only sharpened the edges in my chest. I pictured the women scanning shadows, moving through the woods with their rifles. I imagined what it would take for someone to slip past them.
I stabbed a piece of fruit with my fork, more forceful than necessary. “So there’s actually something to watch for,” I said.
Ellie’s eyes met mine over the rim of her cup. “There definitely is.”
Silence fell again and I forced myself to chew. Every bite tasted like a reminder that the threat was never far, that safety here was a thin curtain stretched over glass. I felt claustrophobia sinking in again, not because of the locks or the threat outside, but because every move I made was seen, weighed, contained. I couldn’t even walk down a flight of stairs without a hand on me.
The part that unsettled me most was the truth I could not ignore. I had asked Cam for help. I could have tried on my own again, dragged myself step by step, even if it meant falling halfway down and crawling the rest. That stubbornness had been my armor for so long, and I had set it aside with a single word. Help.
Cam hadn’t gloated, hadn’t thrown it back in my face, but the memory of her arm steadying me lingered. She hadn’t treated me like glass. She had treated melike something to be handled, something she was strong enough to hold without question. That silence had its own power, and I had bent to it.
I picked at the edge of the toast. I was full now, and unease settled heavier with each breath. The danger outside these walls was real. Ellie’s reminder of the perimeter had carved that deep. But the danger inside was harder to face. It was not about guns or gates. The threat at the tree line felt distant compared to the danger of how quickly I had let these women slip over the walls I’d built for myself.
13
Sabine
Ellie crouched in frontof me, her hand closing around my ankle without preamble. She pulled at the bandage, unwinding it in quick, exact motions. The scrape beneath flared as air touched it, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Hold still, please.” Her voice was flat, clipped, all business.
I bit down on the urge to snap back. Her touch was steady, her movements efficient, but there was nothing gentle in them, like there had been when she first bandaged me. Now she treated me like a task to be managed, not a person. The humiliation sat heavier than the sting in my skin.
The side door clicked open and a voice cut sharp. “Ellie!”
She paused, her grip tightening once before letting go. Irritation flickered across her face as she rose. “Can you take her upstairs, Cam? I’ll be back to finish this.”
Cam nodded. No one asked my opinion. It was obvious I had no say, and I felt indignation flare in my belly at the entire situation.
Ellie left, the door closing behind her. I sat with my swollen ankle propped on a chair, pulse quickening. Whatever had pulled her away had been enough to cut through her rigid control, and that reminder lodged deep in my chest. The threat outside wasn’t abstract. It was close.
Cam stepped forward, quiet and sure, ready to manage me in Ellie's absence.
“I can handle the stairs on crutches,” I said quickly. I gripped the edge of my chair as if I could stand on my own. I wanted her to believe it, wanted myself to believe it too.
Her gaze dropped to my foot, then back to my eyes. “No.” One word, flat and final. Her tone carried no heat, no mockery. Just fact.
I bristled. “I’ve used crutches before. Going up is easier than going down.”
“It’s not happening,” she said. Her voice was even, almost quiet. “If you slip with it unwrapped, you could tear it worse. I won’t risk that.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. She stepped closer, close enough that I caught the faint clean scent of soap on her skin. “Arms around my neck.”
The command left no room for argument. I hesitated anyway, jaw tight, the sting of humiliation sharp in my chest. When I moved, it was stiff, reluctant, but I did as she told me. My arms slid around her neck, the muscles beneath her shirt shifting as she bent to lift me.
Her strength closed around me in one smooth motion, lifting me as though I weighed nothing at all. I pressed my lips together, determined not to show the rush of awareness that shot through me at the feel of her solid body against mine.
Cam said nothing as she carried me out into the hall. Ellie’s hands had been clinical, detached. This woman’s silence was different. The press of her breasts against me, the solid grip at my back and under my knees, felt intimate in a way words could not undo.
She carried me up the stairs without strain. In the hallway upstairs, she set me down just long enough to push open my bedroom door.
