Page 18 of What We Burn

“She’s leaving.”

Most people wilt under Holden’s attention, but she lifts her chin and glares back. “I understand you want her home. But if something goes wrong without proper equipment and trained⁠—”

The door opens again.

This time the room doesn’t just shift. It reorganizes. The way a room does when someone walks in who is utterly out of place.

Odin.

He’s in a charcoal suit, his hair swept back. His pale gray eyes move over the room, coming to land on me.

“Miss Adams.” He nods at me. “You look considerably better than the last time I was briefed.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound like much, but Odin hears me just fine.

He glances at Holden. “I thought we were leaving?”

“We are,” Holden says. “As I was explaining to Rosaline⁠—”

“Dr. Chowdhury wants⁠—”

“I’m aware.” Odin holds up his hand, silencing my nurse. He reaches into his jacket and produces a thin sheaf of paperwork, which he hands to Rosaline. “Miss Adams is being transferred to a private facility effective today. Around-the-clock care—a full medical team and psychiatric staff equipped for a patient in her circumstances.” He doesn’t look away from the nurse. “Every box her chart generates will be checked. Every need, medical and otherwise, met to the letter of the law.”

Rosaline’s gaze drops to the pages.

“Dr. Maddox is overseeing her care,” he continues. “His credentials are on the second page, with the facility’s accreditation and the signed acceptance of transfer. The airway risk Dr. Chowdhury flagged is accounted for—ENT on staff, full resuscitation capability on-site, and a private medical transport already standing by, in case her condition changes en route.”

Rosaline scans the first page and flips to the second. I watch her register the credentials, the signatures, the sheer weight of preparation that went into this document. She looks up at Odin and their eyes lock.

It’s barely a second. A half-second, maybe. But I see it—the way her eyes widen fractionally, the way her lips part and then press together. Like she’s only just realized that Odin is, objectively, the most dangerous man in the room.

She blinks, glancing away. A flush creeps up from her collar.

“This is . . . very thorough,” she says, and her voice is perfectly professional but half an octave higher than it was thirty seconds ago. “I’ll need to confirm with Dr. Chowdhury, but if Dr. Maddox is on board, I don’t see a medical objection.” She clutches the printout against her chest. “I’ll go process the paperwork and arrange the transfer.”

She leaves, not quite running, but definitely not lingering.

Odin watches her go.

“Thank you,” I rasp.

He turns to me. “Don’t thank me, thank your men. They’ve been quite insistent.” He looks at Holden. “We need to talk. Privately. Now.”

He turns and walks out without waiting for confirmation that Holden will follow.

Guess it’s good to be king.

Holden looks at me. Cups my face. Presses his forehead against mine.

“I’ll be right back, wildcat. I promise. Nothing you need to worry about.”

He kisses my forehead and heads out, the door clicking shut behind him.

I’m alone in the hospital room with the beeping and the wilting flowers and the antiseptic smell that I’m starting to think has permanently bonded with my skin.

And Eli.

He’s still in his little shame corner, watching me with the same haunted, hollowed-out look that hasn’t changed since I first woke up.