Brooke nods once. “Okay.”
Doc points at the chair near the wall without looking up. “Then sit there and be quiet. Everyone else out except Cobra, Brooke and Logan.”
Blaze points to himself. “I’m excellent in medical emergencies.”
Doc looks at him.
Blaze nods. “Leaving.”
The hallway clears slowly, reluctantly. Emma touches Brooke’s shoulder once before she goes. Mac whispers something to Logan that I don’t catch, and he answers with a nod. Hammer stays near the hall, probably guarding the door. Joker is nowhere in sight, which means he’s downstairs with the men who tried to take Olivia.
Good. Let him be exactly what his name promises.
Doc gives Olivia something through a syringe, then keeps monitoring. “This should help counter some of the depressant effect if it’s the class I think it is. If it’s not, we watch and adjust.”
“How long?” I ask.
“Could be minutes. Could be hours. Depends what they gave her, dose, weight, tolerance.”
“She’s too still.”
Doc’s gaze flicks to me. “She’s drugged.”
“I know.”
“Then stop looking like you’re about to shake her awake.”
Blaze would’ve liked that one.
I don’t.
Logan stands near the foot of the bed, quieter now. The argument isn’t over. It’s waiting. He knows it. I know it.
But for now, Olivia breathes. And I stand beside her bed. Not asking why. Not questioning what she is. Not dressing it up in words that make it easier for everyone else to swallow.
The claim is already done.
It happened on a cold street before I knew her name. It happened when she dropped and the world narrowed to the men who touched her and the body I lifted from the pavement. It happened before I carried her through these doors. Saying it to Logan didn’t make it true. It only made the truth audible.
She’s mine.
And now everybody knows it.
Sound reaches me first again. Not sharp this time. Not broken the same way it was before. It’s deeper, steadier, like it has weight behind it instead of slipping through me. It presses at the edges of my awareness until I can’t ignore it anymore.
A voice. Low. Rough. Not raised. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t trip over itself. It moves slow and certain, like every word lands exactly where it’s meant to without needing to be forced there.
Another voice answers.
Softer. Female. Calm in a different way. Not heavy. Not sharp. Just…grounded. Like it’s built to hold something steady instead of control it.
I don’t understand the words at first. They blur together, too far away, like I’m still behind whatever wall kept everything out before. Then something catches.
“…she’ll wake confused.” The softer voice.
“She’ll wake,” the deeper one replies. Not a question. A statement.
Something in my chest tightens.
