The ceiling above her was unfamiliar—plain, off-white, faintly cracked near one corner.No flickering fluorescents.No buzzing.Just quiet.Real, solid quiet.
Memory followed, not all at once, but in manageable fragments.
Being helped inside.Not carried—guided.A narrow hallway.A room already prepared.
A woman with tired eyes and a calm, professional voice asking,where does it hurt?
No names.No soothing lies.Just practiced hands pressing gently along her ribs, checking her pupils, listening to her lungs.
Bruised, not broken, the woman had said.Hurts like hell either way.
Then soup.Salty and hot.Someone sitting nearby while she ate, not talking, just there.
Sleep had taken her before she could argue.
Soft mattress.Clean sheets.A faint smell of antiseptic and coffee.
Safe.
For now.
Mara exhaled carefully and turned her head.
The room was sparsely furnished but intentional.She’d noticed that even before—no wasted space, no personal clutter.A place meant to be used, not lived in.
She could hear movement beyond the walls now.Footsteps.A low murmur of voices.She wasn’t alone.
That realization settled something deep in her chest.A small table with medical supplies neatly arranged.A chair pulled close to the bed.No clutter.No personal touches.Like a place meant for recovery, not living.
A safehouse, then.
Figures.
She pushed herself up on one elbow and immediately regretted it.Pain flared hot and bright through her ribs, stealing her breath.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
“Careful.”
The voice came from the doorway.
Luca leaned against the frame, arms crossed, posture relaxed in a way that didn’t fool her for a second.He looked the same as he had in the car—solid, controlled—but now without the rush of motion around him, she noticed more.
The faint scar along his jaw was jagged, and no doubt would have hurt like hell.
The way his dark eyes took her in, assessing without crowding.
“Doc says bruised ribs,” he said.“Bad ones.You’re going to feel like shit for a few days.”
“Only a few?”she muttered.
A corner of his mouth lifted.“You’re optimistic I see.”
She shifted again, slower this time, and leaned back against the pillows.“How long was I out?”
“Couple hours.”
“And you stayed?”
