“I don’t know what my words are yet.”
“That’s okay.”
We stop there and Philomena asks to sleep before we discuss anything else. Blossom takes her upstairs, shows her how the lock works, and explains who can enter during an emergency. She makes sure Philomena knows she can ask for a different room, more blankets, less light, or someone nearby without explaining why.
Then she leaves me alone in the consultation room with the closed intake form.
I stay there for another minute, listening to the quiet settle back into the room. The chair across from me is still angled toward the window, and Philomena’s untouched tea has gone cold on the table between us. I should use the time to organize my notes, but the pressure behind my ribs has only tightened since Josie stopped beside my desk that morning.
I take out my phone and call Blake. He answers on the third ring with the camera too close to his face. For a second, all I can see is one silver eyebrow and part of his forehead while Rosalie talks somewhere behind him.
“Why can I only see half your face?” I ask.
Blake moves the phone back and props it against a mug on the kitchen table. His cane is resting beside his chair, and half a sandwich sits untouched on the plate in front of him. “Better, Cupcake?”
“A little.” I study him while he settles back. He looks tired, though not worse than he did that morning. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
His mouth curves, but he doesn’t try to dodge me again. “A little tired. Grayson made me sit down, and Luther’s making sure I stay here.”
As if summoned by his name, Luther crosses behind him with Rosalie tucked against one side and a doll hanging upside down from his other hand. She’s explaining something urgently about a missing shoe while Luther listens with the same attention he gives every crisis in the house. He glances toward the screen as he passes, then presses a kiss to Blake’s temple without interrupting Rosalie.
Blake leans into the touch before looking back at me. “See? Closely supervised.”
“Have you eaten?”
His eyes flick toward the sandwich.
“Blake.”
“I’ve eaten some of it.”
“That means you’ve taken two bites, which means it’s not enough.”
A quiet laugh slips out of him as he picks up one half. He takes another bite while holding my gaze, then sets it down and wipes his fingers against the napkin beside the plate. “Satisfied?”
“Not remotely, but I’ll accept progress.”
The teasing fades when he studies my face more carefully. His hand settles against the edge of the table, and his voice softens. “What happened?”
I look toward the consultation-room door before answering. “Someone came in this morning. She’s been through more than she should’ve had to survive.”
Blake doesn’t ask for her name or what she told me. He waits, giving me room to decide what belongs to Philomena and what belongs to me.
“I’m trying not to turn her story into evidence before she decides whether that’s what she wants,” I say. “I know what we need for the investigation, but she’s only been here a few hours.”
“Then let her be safe first,” Blake says. He shifts the phone slightly when Rosalie’s voice rises in the next room, but his attention stays on me. “You don’t have to solve everything she told you today.”
The answer loosens some of the pressure in my chest. I rest my head briefly against the back of the chair and close my eyes.
“I needed to hear you,” I admit.
“I’m here, Cupcake.”
Luther returns without Rosalie and stops behind Blake’s chair. One hand settles on Blake’s shoulder while the other braces against the table, bringing him closer to the screen.
