Cooler. Fever’s broken.
Her lashes flutter, and then one storm-gray eye cracks open, fixing on me.
Goddamn. Up close, even half-awake, she’s stunning in a way that sneaks up on you. Not the polished, practiced kind of beautiful—raw, real, like the edge of a storm rolling in.
“How you feeling?” I keep my voice low, steady.
“Tired,” she murmurs sleepily.
I nod toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s check that wrist of yours.”
She pushes herself upright, slow but without complaint, and follows me. The light in Shepard’s kitchen is soft, early-morning gold spilling through the blinds. I grab a stool for her and take her hand gently, turning it over.
The swelling’s there, faint but visible, and she flinches when I press near the joint.
“Not broken,” I tell her, rotating it carefully. “But it’s strained. Needs to be iced.”
She nods, quiet. I move to the freezer, wrap a handful of ice cubes in a clean dish towel, and press it gently to her wrist. She doesn’t pull away.
Up this close, I can see the faint scatter of freckles over her pale skin. There’s something… fragile about her in this light. Not weak, not breakable, but like someone who’s had more than her fair share of storms and is still standing anyway.
I push a strand of her pink-streaked hair back from her face. “I still think it’s a good idea for you to get checked out at the hospital.”
Her gaze cuts to mine, sharp even in her tiredness. “You’re a paramedic,” she says softly. “How about you do the tests?”
There’s something in the way she says it—a mix of stubbornness and quiet trust—that gets me.
“I can do that,” I say after a beat. “Swing by the station later. I’ll run you through a more thorough check. No crowd, no paperwork, just us.”
She nods once, and I know that’s all I’ll get for now.
Before I can say more, Gus’s bark cuts through the quiet, deep and insistent. The sound is followed by a rustle from the living room.
Shepard walks in, running a hand through his hair and blinking against the light. “Guess that’s my cue to take him out.” He’s already reaching for the leash hanging by the door.
“Good idea,” I say.
Gabe’s voice comes next, rough from sleep but still carrying that edge of confidence he always has. “I can make us breakfast.”
He steps into the kitchen, already pulling open cabinets.
“I should go,” Sadie says, shifting like she’s about to stand.
Gabe shakes his head, giving her a look that would probably make a lesser person sit back down instantly. “I’d rather you stay and eat with us.”
She hesitates, clearly weighing her options. I can’t tell if she’s afraid of overstaying her welcome or just unused to people wanting her to stay.
“Sit,” I tell her, moving the ice on her wrist to a better angle. “You’ll feel better with something in your stomach.”
Sadie… she’s different. I can’t place it yet, but something in her eyes tells me she’s not here by accident.
By the time Shepard’s back from taking Gus out, the smell of breakfast is filling the apartment. Gabe’s at the stove, flipping eggs like a pro, a pot of coffee brewing beside him.
Sadie’s still at the counter, watching everything with quiet eyes.
“Coffee?” Gabe asks her.
She shakes her head. “Not right now, thanks.”
