Blake Hart

A soft tap on my shoulder stirred me from the dark.

At first, I wasn’t sure where I was. All I could feel was the gentle pressure of something warm beneath my cheek, the fabric of a jacket, smooth and clean, pressed against my skin.

My body tensed instinctively.

Then I remembered.

The forest.

The fire.

The car.

Him.

I jerked upright so fast the world tilted. My breath hitched in my throat as I tried to orient myself. My hands moved first, checking my wrists, my surroundings, the doors. I wasn’t tied up. I wasn’t being watched. Not like before.

But I was being watched.

Billy stood near the open car door, one hand on the frame, the other tucked into his coat pocket. He was looking at me, not unkindly but assessing. Like he was trying to piece together what kind of mess had just landed in their lap.

Behind him, Raiden was leaning back in his seat, legs relaxed, hands draped loosely over his knees. He had a faint smile on his face, the kind that didn’t quite reach the eyes but didn’t need to.

“You wake up like that every morning?” he asked, brow arched.

The edge of his tone was almost playful.

I blinked, still groggy, blinking the sleep from my eyes.

“I.. sorry,” I mumbled.

Billy snorted. “Could’ve sworn you were in a coma five seconds ago.”

I glanced between them. Something in their exchange felt… familiar. Not scripted. Not stiff. Like they’d done this before. Not this, me, but the rhythm, the banter. There was a friendship there, beneath all the suits and shadowed glances. Something steady. Real.

It made my chest ache with something I didn’t have a name for.

Raiden stood, reaching behind him to grab his jacket, the same one I must’ve been leaning on.

He didn’t say anything as he slid it on. Just glanced down at me with that same unreadable look. Then he nodded toward the building behind them.

“We’re here.”

I blinked again, adjusting to the low light as I stepped out of the car. My ankle ached with each movement but it wasn’t as bad as before. Maybe the sleep had helped. Or maybe I was just too numb to register anything properly.

The place they’d brought me to didn’t look like a hospital. Or a warehouse. Or anything I expected.

It was… quiet.

A gated building nestled at the edge of a wooded area, surrounded by high stone walls and trimmed hedges. The entrance was discreet, the kind of place you’d drive past without noticing.

Inside, it was warm. Clean. Unsettlingly modern.

Tall ceilings, slate gray floors. Minimalist furniture, expensive-looking in the way that screamed understated wealth. A long hallway stretched ahead, walls painted in soft neutrals, light spilling in from thin glass windows.

Nothing about it felt dangerous.

But that was the trick, wasn’t it?

A woman stood in the middle of the open living space, arms crossed gently over a black blouse. She looked… normal. Professional. Mid-40s, sharp eyes, soft expression.

She must be the doctor.

She gave a small smile when she saw me. It wasn’t pitying, just calm.

I hesitated.

Raiden stepped beside me. Not close enough to crowd, just near enough that I felt the weight of his presence.

“She’s here for you,” he said quietly. “You’re safe.”

Our eyes met.

His were steady. Not warm or soft but... certain. And after everything, after all the false promises, the threats, the traps, certainty was the only thing I wanted.

I gave a slow nod.

The doctor approached and paused a foot away. She didn’t touch me, didn’t reach. Just nodded in return.

“I’ll help you in the other room,” she said gently. “It’s private.”

I swallowed. Then, with one last glance at Raiden, and the faintest trace of gratitude I couldn’t yet say aloud, I followed her down the hallway.