The door opened.
I didn't look up. I didn't need to. I knew who it was.
"Bunny."
Matt's voice, soft and steady.
"Bunny, look at me."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
I looked up. He was standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the light from outside, his expression unreadable.
"How did you find me?"
"Your phone. I tracked it."
"I didn't know you could do that."
"There's a lot you don't know about me."
He walked toward me, stepping over the broken glass, avoiding the blood.
"Come on. We need to get you out of here."
"I can't leave."
"Yes, you can."
"I haven't finished."
"Yes, you have."
He knelt beside me and took my hands. They were red, still wet, still warm.
"Bunny. Look at me."
I looked at him.
"You're in shock. You need to eat. You need to sleep. You need to let me take care of you."
"I don't deserve—"
"It's not about deserving. It's about surviving. And you're going to survive, Bunny. I'm going to make sure of it."
He helped me to my feet. My legs were shaking. My hands were shaking. Everything was shaking, and I couldn't make it stop.
"The body—"
"I'll take care of it."
"How?"
"The same way I've been taking care of things for thirty years. Quietly. Without questions."
He led me out of the office, through the warehouse, into the night.
