Safe.
The word sits wrong in my mouth. But in here, right now, it’s as close as she’s going to get.
Olivia hesitates. Then her eyes close again. This time they stay. Her breathing evens out slowly, not fully calm, but less sharp than before.
I watch it. Count it. Track it. Make sure it doesn’t change. Minutes pass. Maybe more.
Brooke stands after a while, moving quietly so she doesn’t wake Olivia. “Come here,” she says softly. Not a request. Not an order. Something in between.
I look at Olivia once more. Still breathing. Still steady.
Then I follow Brooke into the hall. She closes the infirmary door halfway behind us. Not fully. She doesn’t trap me away from the room.
Smart.
She leans back against the wall, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “What is she to you?” Straight to it. No buildup. No softness.
I don’t hesitate. “She stays.”
Brooke exhales slowly, like she expected that answer but hoped for something else. “That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the answer you get.”
“She’s not club,” Brooke says. “She’s not property. She’s not going to understand whatever this is, the way you do.”
“She doesn’t have to understand it tonight.”
Brooke studies me for a long second. “You saw her,” she says.
I don’t respond.
“I watched your face when she woke up,” Brooke continues. “You looked like you were going to tear the building down if anyone so much as breathed wrong near her.”
That sits there. I don’t pick it up. I don’t acknowledge it. Instead, I shift the conversation. “They had a folder on her,” I say. “Name. Photos. Routine. Family details.”
Brooke’s expression tightens. “You’re sure?”
“I have it.”
“Which means this wasn’t random.”
“No.”
“That matters,” she says quietly.
“It does.”
“But that’s not what I was talking about.”
I look at her.
She holds my gaze. Not backing down. Not pushing harder. Just…there. “You don’t do this,” she says. “Not like this.”
“This is different.”
“Why?”
I don’t answer that. Because I don’t need to. Because the answer doesn’t change anything. Because saying it out loud makes it something it isn’t. “She stays,” I repeat.
