I nod, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I thought I wanted to watch. I thought it would help."
"Revenge rarely does what we think it will." He doesn't touch me, but I feel his presence by my side. "Can you stand?"
I push myself to my feet, unsteady but determined not to appear weak. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." He states it as simple fact. "No one would be."
The absence of judgment in his tone breaks something loose in my chest.
"I wanted to hurt her," I confess, the words painful to admit. "I wanted to be the one causing pain instead of receiving it. What does that make me?"
"Human." He gestures toward the main building. "Come on. Ghost and Blade will finish this later. You've seen enough."
I follow him without argument, grateful to be away from the shed and what continues inside it. He leads me through the clubhouse, past curious eyes that quickly look away when he glares, and back to his quarters.
The room feels different now. Less threatening, almost familiar after just one night. He closes the door behind us, giving us privacy, but doesn't move further into the space, as if understanding my need for distance.
"Sit," he says, nodding toward the edge of the bed. "You look ready to collapse."
I perch on the mattress, exhausted. The adrenaline of the warehouse raid, the confrontation with Naomi, it's all catching up with me at once.
Reaper stays by the door, leaning against the wall, giving me space. "Do you want water? Something stronger?"
"Water," I say, not trusting myself with alcohol in this state.
He disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water and something clutched in his other hand. He hands me the water, then offers what appears to be a chocolate bar.
"Sugar helps," he explains when I look confused. "With shock."
I accept both, sipping the water slowly. "Is this what you do? After?"
He understands the question I'm struggling to articulate. "Sometimes. Depends on what needs doing."
"How do you..." I search for words. "How do you live with it? The things you have to do?"
He doesn't pretend to misunderstand. "You compartmentalize. You remember why it's necessary. You find ways to balance the darkness."
"Is that why you saved me? For balance?"
"No." His answer is immediate, certain. "That had nothing to do with balance."
"Then why? I need a reason why someone would save me when no one else did. I’m not special. I’m worth nothing."
"Because when I saw you on that stage, something in me recognized something in you."
"What?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Resilience. Defiance. Dignity they couldn't take, no matter how hard they tried." He shifts his weight, uncomfortable with the admission. "And because you reminded me that I'm still capable of feeling something besides anger."
The honesty of his answer leaves me speechless. I take a bite of chocolate to buy time, the sweetness almost shocking after months of bland captivity food.
"How did you end up here?" I ask finally. "Leading the Outlaw Order?"
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "That's a long story."
"I'm not going anywhere." The words come out before I can consider their implications.
“Military first. Special forces. Did things I can't talk about in places that don't officially exist." He crosses his arms. "Got out when Emma was five. Her mother had already left. She couldn't handle what I became overseas."
