Malerick studies me like he’s picking me apart like he’s waiting for a crack in the mask. Then, he pulls out his phone, turns the screen toward me.

And there she is.

Blythe.

Not her, as I know her. Not the woman curled up in my bed, safe. This version of her is someone else. Hair slicked into a bun, jewelry flashing, and makeup covering every feature I’ve memorized. But it’s her.

Malerick crosses his arms. “Tell me why I shouldn’t treat this like a legitimate case. Why I should ignore it when I could just make a call so this poor man can recover his mentally ill wife.”

I hate asking for help.

Hate needing anything from them—my fucking brothers.

But this is for Blythe.

I shut the door behind me, lowering my voice. “He’s lying. She’s not mentally unstable—she’s running. From him.” I don’t give him a chance to interrupt. “He’s like our father. Controlling. Abusive. Everything we hate. She feared for her life, so she escaped.”

“She could go to a shelter⁠—”

“The guy is bad news,” I cut him off before he lists all the useless, too-late options that won’t protect her. “You don’t get it. He’ll find her. She can’t just disappear.” I don’t say the other part. The part where I could make sure Winston disappears instead. Because then Malerick will ask questions I’m not ready to answer.

His mouth presses into a thin hard line. “You could’ve come to me with this earlier.”

I let out a slow exhale, keeping my voice controlled. “He’s fucking dangerous. And no offense, Mal, but you’re just the sheriff.”

His jaw tightens, his fingers twitching like he’s holding something back. For a second, I think he might take a swing at me. Wouldn’t be the first time. But he just watches me, the tension between us thick, waiting to snap.

“I might be just the sheriff, but I could help you, asshole,” Malerick finally says, voice edged with frustration.

I let out a humorless laugh. “Why would you want to help me?” My tone is low. “You hate me just like the others. Hell, a few weeks ago, you tried to run me out of town.”

His nostrils flare. “I don’t need someone else to worry about while we’re dealing with the fucking Hollow Syndicate.” He rakes a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back to me. His eyes burn with something deeper than anger. Frustration. Exhaustion. “They’re quiet right now, but when they come back, they’re not just coming for me, Atlas. They’ll take all of us down so they can get their hands on the timber company. I don’t need more people to worry about.”

Malerick watches me for a long moment, the air between us coiled so tight it might snap.