Page 20 of Grim

She took a step back, keys clutched tight in her hand. “And you’re… following me?”

“Protecting you.” His voice didn’t rise, didn’t soften, just settled between them like a fact.

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“You don’t have to.”

She crossed her arms, trying to create distance she didn’t actually feel. “Look, I appreciate the concern. Really. But I can take care of myself.”

Her voice didn’t shake. Even tired, even rattled, she held her ground. She’d spent years advocating for patients twice her size. Standing up to him wasn’t new. It was muscle memory.

“No,” he said, stepping closer, boots scraping softly against the concrete. “You can’t.”

Her chin lifted, heat rising in her chest. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t know what these men are capable of.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

The word landed like a weight, heavy, certain, final.

She stepped back again, pulse thudding, but he matched her without touching her. Just a shift of his stance, a subtle lean forward, enough to make the air between them feel charged.

“Why me?” she whispered.

“Because you’re Reyes’s night nurse.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything.”

Her throat tightened. “This is insane.”

“Maybe.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I’m not here to reassure you.”

“Clearly.”

He stepped closer. Too close. The faint scent of smoke and rain clung to him, warm against the cold morning air.

Details sharpened: the faint scar near his temple, the warmth radiating off him, the way his eyes tracked her like he was memorizing every breath she took. Her gaze flicked to his mouth before she could stop herself.

His jaw flexed. He noticed.

“Maddox…” she said softly.

She hadn’t meant to say his name again. It slipped out anyway, pulled from her by something she didn’t want to examine. Too direct. Too personal for a man she barely knew. And the moment it left her mouth, something tightened low in her chest, a rush of heat and awareness she wasn’t prepared for. Like she wanted something from him she didn’t dare name.

He went still. Completely still. Like the name hit something deep and dangerous.

“I’m going home,” she said, voice unsteady.

“I’ll follow you.”