I’m slow to nod, then remember he can’t see with his back to me. “Yeah, there’s stuff in there.”

Of course Perry would just walk in here with only one thing on his mind. Meanwhile, I trail after him, looking for any signs of injury other than his shoulder.

There’s a rattle of pills as he pops open the container of painkillers, throws two back, and then drinks water straight from the jug. I watch as he goes from the fridge to the cupboard and then back again, collecting what I’m assuming are things for a sandwich.

He jumps again when he spins around, arms full of food, and finds me watching him. “You okay? You can go to sleep if you like. I’ll probably be up for a while.” He bounces on his toes. “Still running hot with adrenaline.”

Is he serious? “I thought you were dead!”

Perry’s jaw drops, followed by the supplies he dumps on the counter. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“You said you’d be back tonight, and last I checked, we’ve already reached morning.”

“Oh. That.” He turns back to the food. “Took a bit longer than I thought it would, but nothing to worry about. He didn’t even threaten me. Well, much. I get the feeling I wouldn’t be so lucky next time.” He works as he talks, and I’m still stuck on how casual he’s acting when the relief I feel at being in the same room as him, hearing his voice, seeing him move around making the sandwich, is making me want to fold myself into his arms.

Actually, not want. Need.

I’m craving to have him against me so that I know I’m not dreaming.

But that’s a weird fucking reaction, so I shove it down instead.

“You spoke with Yanni?”

“I did,” he says around his bite of sandwich as he packs everything away. “Rough guy. Bit of a dick and wasn’t the least bit scared, which I’m trying not to take personally.”

That note of offense in his voice calms me slightly. Like it’s a reminder that I’m not dreaming because no way in hell would I imagine being offended that someone didn’t find me scary. The man in front of me is all Perry. “What did he say?”

Perry walks over and collapses back against the couch before switching on a dull lamp and patting the spot beside himself. “Nothing good.”

A spike of alarm hits me. “Is Colin dea⁠—”

“What? No.” He shakes his head. “Well, not that I know of it. Yanni hadn’t heard of anything, but he did give me a name.”

“Really?” I sink into the space beside him, not sure I can stand up much longer. “Who?”

“Someone called Carson Alexander. Apparently, he’s not a good dude.”