Page 21 of Ranger’s Protection

"I watched her in the common room. She didn't let go of your hand the entire time Eden was examining her. She relaxed when you spoke but tensed when anyone else got too close. She trusts you specifically, which is going to make the next few days easier if you're willing to be her primary point of contact."

I should say no.

I should say that I'm needed for tactical planning, for perimeter security, for the dozen other responsibilities I handle as part of the club's strategic operations. That babysitting a witness, no matter how brave or smart or unexpectedly compelling, isn't the best use of my skills.

"I'm willing," I hear myself say instead.

"All right. Show her to one of the guest rooms on the second floor. Make sure she has everything she needs. Stay close tonight in case she has nightmares or panic attacks. We'll reconvene in the morning to plan next steps."

I stand, recognizing a dismissal when I hear one. "What about Vale?"

"I'll handle the preliminary interrogation with Judge and Brick. You focus on the witness. She's your responsibility now."

I nod and head for the door.

"Ranger," Phoenix calls as I'm leaving.

I turn back.

"You did good today. Got her out alive, brought back actionable intel, handled a tactical nightmare with minimal casualties. That's textbook."

Coming from Phoenix, that's high praise. "Just doing my job."

"No. You did more than your job. You kept her calm when most people would've fallen apart. That matters."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod again and leave.

The common room has evolved in the ten minutes I was in Phoenix's office. The kids have successfully pulled Delilah into their orbit. She's coloring with Grace and Mariah, Theo is watching from Eden's lap nearby, and the sight of her bent over a coloring book with a purple crayon in her hand is so at odds with the woman who was curled in a footwell an hour ago that it momentarily shorts out my brain.

She looks up as I approach, and something in her expression relaxes when she sees me.

Definitely comfortable with me specifically.

Phoenix was right about that.

"Time to get you settled," I tell her. "Unless you want to finish your masterpiece first."

She glances down at the half-colored butterfly on the page in front of her. "I think Grace can finish it. She's better at staying inside the lines anyway."

Grace signs something, and Nora translates: "She says you can color anytime you want. She has lots of pages."

"I'll take you up on that," Delilah tells Grace. Nora translates, which earns Delilah an enthusiastic thumbs up.

I offer my hand again. She takes it again. This time when she stands, she sways slightly, exhaustion catching up with her all at once. I steady her automatically, my other hand going to her elbow. "Easy. When's the last time you slept?"

"Really slept? Maybe three days ago. I've been taking twenty-minute naps when I couldn't stay awake anymore, but actual sleep..." She trails off, shaking her head. "I was too scared to sleep. Thought if I closed my eyes, I'd wake up to them breaking down the door."

Three days. No wonder she can barely stand.

"Come on," I say, keeping my hand on her elbow as I guide her toward the stairs. "Let's fix that."

We climb to the second floor, Delilah leaning more heavily on me with each step. By the time we reach the top, she's practically dead on her feet, moving on autopilot and stubbornness alone.

I show her to the guest room at the end of the hall, the one with the attached bathroom and the window that doesn't face the street. More secure. More private.

"It's not much," I tell her, opening the door. "But it's clean and safe. Bathroom's through there. Towels in the cabinet. You need clothes or toiletries, let me know and someone will get them for you."

She steps inside slowly, taking in the space. The full bed with gray comforter. The dresser. The nightstand with a lamp. The complete absence of anything personal or decorative beyond basic furniture.