“Nice. What’s that rated?” Gideon asked, nodding toward a slab of armor as it fell to the side, baring Cam’s Black Flag T-shirt.

His very clean, very white, very intact T-shirt.

I blinked, then blinked again, convincing my brain that my eyes told the truth and this wasn’t something I dreamed up out of desperation. There was no bullet hole. No blood. No damage.

“It’s a four,” Cam said, his voice returning to full strength. He ran his hand over his chest and abdomen, then gave a sigh of relief, letting his head fall back to rest on the ground.

“Nice. And you carry it around?”

“Funny thing about having all your belongings in your car,” Cam answered with a wry grin.

“You’re prepared for your dad to randomly shoot you?” Gid scoffed.

“Something like that.” Cam winced as he sat up.

“You’re okay.” My butt hit the unforgiving soles of my hiking boots as I rocked back, sitting on my heels. The voices behind me registered as white noise even as they became louder, everything buzzing in my head except the fact that Cam wasn’t shot, or bleeding, or dying.

“I already said I’m fine.” He pulled back his shirt and glanced down his collar. “I’ll probably have a nasty bruise, but it’s too dark to see.”

“I’m just saying it’s a good thing you were here,” a voice said at my left. “The way you got that gun away from him was…that was heroic, Xander.”

Sgt. Acosta stepped into my view, patting Xander on the back. The two were the same age, but Acosta looked way more comfortable with his sidearm than Xander did holding Arthur’s shotgun.

“No, I didn’t do anything,” Xander argued, dropping down to Cam’s eye level. “Cam took the brunt of it. Are you okay?” he asked after glancing at the body armor.

Cam nodded and got to his feet.

“Yeah, if the brunt means aggravating your dad into shooting him.” Acosta laughed, and my fingernails bit into my palms.

My mouth opened to tell Acosta that Cam had most likely saved my life, but a swift shake of Cam’s head in my direction had me shutting it. He’d always been content to let others think the worst of him, and I guess nothing had changed.

“Let’s just get him home,” Cam said to no one in particular, clipping the vest back in place and staring straight ahead. His tone was one I’d heard often growing up—shutting down the conversation, letting me know he’d disengaged from whatever would have had the chance to touch him emotionally.