Then I'm walking toward him. Not running, because I'm still a professional and there are still cameras and this is still a facility where I'm supposed to be neutral.
But my legs carry me faster than they should, and when I reach the table, I don't stop on the other side like I'm supposed to.
I stop next to him. Close enough to touch.
"Hope." My name in his mouth, low and rough and worn thin from not speaking.
Then his eyes shift past me to the door.
His face hardens.
"He walked you here." His voice is flat.
"He's head of security. That's his job."
Jude's gaze stays on the door. On Gage. "Tell him if he touches you, I'll take his hands."
I put my notebook down on the table.
"I am not yours to threaten people over. I'm not anyone's. If you can't handle someone walking me down a hallway, you can sit in this room alone."
The room goes quiet. At the frosted window, Gage is watching. I don't look back.
Jude stares at me. His hands press flat against the table, the IV bruise stretching white. He doesn't speak.
I pick up my notebook.
"Are you okay?"
He doesn't answer. His hand lifts from the table—slow and controlled, giving me time to pull away—and his fingers brush my wrist.
The touch is light. Barely there. But I feel it everywhere.
"I'm okay," he says, and his voice is steadier now. "Are you?"
"They wouldn't let me in. For two weeks. I tried—"
"I know." His fingers curl around my wrist. "Kent told me."
"I should have been here."
"You're here now."
My throat tightens. I should step back. I should sit on the other side of the table, maintain professional distance, remember the camera—
I glance at the door. Gage isn't there. He gave us some privacy.
So, I lean into his touch.
His breath catches. It's a small sound, barely audible, but I'm close enough to hear it. Close enough to see the way his pupils dilate, the way his hands flatten hard against the table, the way his whole body goes rigid.
"Hope." His fingers press harder into my wrist. "Gage gave us thirty minutes. He told me when he brought me in earlier."
"I know."
"But we have to be careful. The camera—"
"Has a blind spot." I don't know why I say it. "Behind the bookshelf. Three feet of dead zone."
