“No,” I correct, shaking my head. “I’m saying you’ll be moving upstairs.”

She blinks. “What’s upstairs?”

“Another apartment, just like this one.” I tilt my head, studying her, because there’s still something she hasn’t told me, and if we’re doing this, she has to tell me everything.

Everything. No more lies, nothing held back. I have to know what’s the deal with the nausea, the exhaustion, the way she barely touched the crackers I gave her. Like she’s afraid of something. Was this man poisoning her, and we need to take her to a hospital?

“Mind telling me what’s going on with you?” I ask.

She frowns, confusion crossing her face for a brief moment. “I thought I already did.”

I nod because, technically, she did. But she left something out.

“Are you sick?” I press. “That amount of puking doesn’t seem normal. You look . . . weak.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she goes still, her fingers curling around the hem of her hoodie like she’s trying to hold herself together.

Seconds stretch, and I almost ask again—until she finally exhales, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’m pregnant.”

I go quiet.

“You think?” I arch an eyebrow.

She shrugs, gaze darting to the floor. “I wasn’t when I ran away—I mean, I didn’t know. Or maybe if I had known, I wouldn’t have left him.” Her throat works around the words, like saying them aloud makes them more real. “It was later when I started feeling . . . different. I took a test, and it was positive.”

“But you haven’t been to a doctor.”

She shakes her head.

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. This just got more complicated.

Taking her to the local clinic is out of the question. The second someone recognizes her, it’ll spread like wildfire. Until I have a solid plan, she has to remain almost invisible. The last thing we need is anyone looking at her too closely, asking questions she can’t afford to answer.

I glance back at Blythe.

She’s watching me, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to disappear like she’s waiting for me to tell her she’s on her own. But that’s not going to happen.

No matter how messed up this situation is, I’m in it now.

And I sure as fuck don’t plan on letting her walk back into the hell she escaped from. Because I know exactly how this ends if she does.