No one really knows what the next step is or what there is for us to do besides, obviously, keeping her safe. And that means 24-7: four of us, six-hour shifts. Indefinitely. Forever.
I let my eyes flutter shut just briefly and listen to the rushing water sounds. I don’t want to sleep, but it’s a nice sound. Soothing, comforting, steady.
Then a thud. A thump. A series of loud sounds.
I jerk back up to standing, completely awake. Was that…could someone get in? I don't know what the suites in here look like, if there are windows or points of ingress. Stupid. Shouldhave looked. Like staring at the door all night was going to be enough.
I swear under my breath and listen intently, but there's nothing else. And that somehow strikes a darker fear into my heart.
“Gwenna?” I ask, softly enough that I won't wake the rest of the hall. No response.
“Gwenna?” I cry—louder now, as I spin to face the door.
Still nothing.
I turn the knob, but it's locked. In a split second, I make a choice. One step back, shoulder forward, I grit my teeth and slam through, cracking the door off its hinges slightly and sending the lock spinning askew.
But I'm in. I look left, right, listen for sounds.
To the right is a closed door, near the wall to the hallway where I could hear the shower running. Another softer thump.
“Gwenna!” No longer a question.
All I can see are terrible images: hands clamped on her mouth, arms wrenched behind her back, and I don't like it. Instinct takes over my sense, my training, and I slam open the bathroom door, dagger drawn, but there's no one.
No one except her, collapsed in a heap in the tub, streaming water beating down on her.
Naked.
My eyes go wide. Oh God. I gulp.She's not moving. Is she?—
I drop the weapon and fly to the edge of the tub, crouching, cradling her head and searching for blood.
There’s none.
Her eyes flutter open.
“Cal?” she says. She shakes her head, blinking. Dark, wet strands of hair are plastered around her face and to her neck, and her lips are pale. “I must have… I slipped,” she whispers.
“You're okay,” I say, rasping. “I've got you.”
Relief is the first feeling I feel—that she's not hurt, or not seriously. There's no one attacking her. There's no threat.
But then, heat crawls from my collar up my neck to my face. She’s close. So close I can feel her trembling—from cold or shock or exhaustion, I don’t know. But I won’t look, Ican'tlook, even as I let go of her head and brace under her arms to help her up, her shaking fingers clutching my biceps as rivulets of water stream from the ends of her hair. Her skin is cold under my hands despite the heat of the shower, and I take one step into the tub for better balance, pressing my back against the wall so that she can brace properly.
“Thanks.” She pants, catching her breath. Around us, the bathroom is now thick with steam, everything softened and blurred, the air heady and the mirror fully fogged.
“Callahan.”
I snap to attention. Gwenna nods down. “You're getting all wet.”
I look down at the end of my coat, my pant leg, my shoe, now soaked from the torrent of shower water. I hadn't even noticed.
“It's fine,” I mutter. “Are you?—?”
“I'm okay.” She lifts her right hand to press her forehead. “I think I'm just…weak and tired.”
“Mhm.” I'm still supporting her body weight a little, still touching her slick flesh with my own bare hands, and I have to tighten every fiber of my muscle not to let my fingers shake against her.
