Page 58 of Cobra
Brooke’s expression softens. “Yeah,” she says. “That part’s the worst.”
Silence settles between us for a second. Not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
My mind doesn’t stop moving. It shifts. Starts lining things up whether I want it to or not.
Leave.
Stay.
The options sit in front of me like something I can’t ignore anymore.
If I leave, I go home. I lock the doors. I call my family. I call the police. I try to pretend I can put this back into something normal. But they had a file. They knew where I work. They knew when I leave. They knew where I walk. They were waiting. If I leave, I walk back into that. Knowing it’s there. Not knowing when it’s coming. My stomach tightens again. I shift.
Stay.
I look around the infirmary again. The bed. The cabinets. The half-open door. This place isn’t normal. Nothing about it is. The rules aren’t clear. The people aren’t familiar. The environment should scare me more than it does.
And him…
My thoughts stop there. Because that’s the part that doesn’t make sense. He should scare me. Everything about him says he should. The way he moves. The way he talks. The way the room shifts when he walks into it like something has just… locked into place. He should feel dangerous. He is dangerous.
I’ve seen it. I saw the blood on his hands.I see it now, dried along his knuckles, split skin that hasn’t been cleaned yet because he doesn’t care about himself the same way he cares about me. My chest tightens.
He doesn’t scare me. That’s the problem. Or part of it. Because there’s something else under that. Something that doesn’t make sense. Something that feels…
No.
I don’t finish that thought. I don’t want to.
The door shifts slightly.
I look up.
He’s there. He fills the doorway without trying, like the space adjusts around him instead of the other way around. The air changes when he steps in. Not louder. Not heavier. Just… focused.
My body reacts before my mind catches up. My spine straightens. My breath pauses. My attention locks.
He looks at me. Not over me. Not through me. At me. His eyes flick once to my arm where the IV used to be, then to the gauze, then back to my face. He takes in the room in a single sweep, Brooke, the door, the position of the chair, then settles again. Contained. “You okay?” The question is simple. Direct.
I hesitate. Then nod. “I think so.”
He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t push. He just accepts the answer for what it is. That matters more than it should.
“Did you find out why?” I ask. The question sits between us.
He doesn’t answer right away. For a second, I think he won’t. Then, “not yet.”
Two words.No fluff. No lies. Just truth. Something in my chest loosens.
I don’t know why that matters so much. It just does. “You will?” I press.
“Yes.” Again. Simple. Certain. Like it’s already done.
I swallow. “Can I leave when I want?” The question comes out before I can stop it.
His gaze doesn’t shift. “No.” The word hits like a wall. Immediate. Solid.
