The pieces click into place before he even finishes talking. Sanford’s warning from last night. His brothers-in-law aren’t happy about me being here. Which means I need to get to the bar and talk to Cassian—one of the operatives they planted in this town. The real question is, who’s the second one?

Sanford arrives tomorrow. His team already rented a house in case this drags out. No official plan yet, but more people are coming. A precaution. An escalation.

I let out a slow breath. “We’ll handle it.”

“It’d be better if you add me to your plan,” Malerick says, watching me closely.

“We’ll talk later,” I reply, finality in my tone. Right now, I need to focus on Blythe.

Malerick hesitates, then nods, giving me one last look before turning for the door. The second it shuts behind him, the room feels tighter, the air heavier.

Blythe shifts on her feet, arms crossed, like she’s holding in something too big to carry.

“So what now?”

I reach for her before I can stop myself, my fingers brushing against her wrist. “Now . . . I wait for Sanford to get here with his team,” I say. “I’m talking to the lawyer. We might be able to expedite your divorce if we’re willing to give up your location.”

She lets out an exhale. It’s slow, measured, but I see the war happening behind her eyes. Then, finally, her fingers curl—just slightly—in my hold. Not fully, but enough.

“What if he drags me back to Miami?”

“We’re working through every scenario. The team is looking for any medical reports—anything that proves he hurt you. Even if you never reported him, there were bruises. Someone had to document them.”

Her throat moves as she swallows, her gaze dipping for half a second. “I don’t know if the doctors kept track of the broken bones. The hospital visits.”

Rage knots low in my chest. I push it down. Focus. “The people helping us are good. We’ll find everything.” My voice drops. “I swear I was going to tell you. I just needed more time before . . .” I glance at her, watching the way she’s already pulling back into herself. “Before fear took over.”

She doesn’t deny it.

Instead, she breathes out. “Can I . . . can I have the list of therapists you mentioned?”

Relief loosens something in me. Not much. Just enough.

“Of course.”

She nods, and for the first time since Malerick walked through that door, she doesn’t look like she’s about to run.

I breathe, too. Knowing she’s still here. Knowing I haven’t fucked this up enough to make her leave.

I swallow, hesitating only a second before I ask, “Can I hold you?”

Her breath catches, her fingers twitching against mine. Then, after a beat, she nods.