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“I’ll be back soon,” Noah murmured, his voice low and reluctant. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. And then he was gone.

* * *

Noah followedTristan out of Ruth’s room, his chest tight and every step sending a dull ache through his side. Tristan’s hand was firm on his shoulder as he guided him down the hallway to the elevator.

“Come on,” Tristan said in a no-nonsense tone. “I need to take a look at you.”

“I’m fine,” Noah muttered, though the stabbing pain with each breath told a different story.

“Don’t start with me, Noah,” Tristan said. “You can’t help Ruth if you collapse. Let’s go.”

Noah sighed heavily but didn’t argue. A floor below, in the ER, Tristan led him to an exam room and gestured for him to sit on the gurney. “Shirt off,” he instructed, grabbing gloves and his stethoscope.

Reluctantly, Noah peeled off his shirt, wincing as the motion pulled at his chest. Tristan’s expression darkened as he inspected the mottled bruising along Noah’s ribs.

“Three broken ribs, at least,” Tristan said after palpating carefully. “You’ve been walking around like this? No wonder you’re wincing every five seconds.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Noah replied gruffly. “Rae?—”

“Ruth needs you at your best,” Tristan interrupted, his tone firm. “If you don’t take care of this, you’ll be no good to her.”

After an x-ray that confirmed his suspicions, Tristan grabbed a roll of medical tape and began wrapping Noah’s chest. “You’re lucky you didn’t puncture a lung. This will help stabilize them, but you need to get some rest. I’m going to give something for the pain. And, no, it won’t make you groggy. I’ll let you go back to stay with her on one condition—you sleep when she does. Got it?”

“Fine,” Noah said begrudgingly, though his jaw tightened.

“Stay put. I’ll be back with the pain meds.” Tristan stepped out.

As he pulled his shirt back on, the door opened, and Brad Killian stepped in. Despite no sleep, he remained a sharply dressed man with an air of authority. His expression was serious. “Noah, we need to talk.”

Noah straightened, ignoring the ache in his ribs. “What is it?”

Brad didn’t waste time with pleasantries. His tone was clipped, professional. “My team is tracing the source of the explosive. We’re already sweeping Ruth’s apartment and your home for any signs of tampering.”

Noah’s jaw tightened, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Why Ruth’s place?”

Brad met his glare head-on, his expression calm but steely. “We’re treating her involvement as a serious possibility. Alex notified Evan Shipley; he’s on his way. Shipley notified the U.S. attorney, Tom Calloway, who is out of town. I also notified Blake Ellison and Dylan Grant.”

Noah’s eyes darkened, his temper boiling over. He stepped closer, his voice low and sharp with anger. “You’re spreading this around? If Ruth is the target, the more people who know she’s alive, the more danger you’re putting her in.”

Brad didn’t flinch, holding Noah’s gaze with unshakable authority. “You think I haven’t considered that? Every name I’ve involved is vetted or need-to-know. Shipley is not a political hack, as most people suspect. Before he became your boss, he actually used to specialize in ordnance tracking. And Alex’s expertise is digital surveillance. Calloway is your big boss. Was Shipley supposed to sit on it?

“We’re not just throwing darts at a wall, Noah—we’re pulling in resources who can actually solve this. Ellison and Grant are Ruth’s employers. All I reported to them is that she was critically injured. We are going to need their cooperation in sharing her caseload.”

“And if one of them leaks something? If someone lets it slip that Ruth survived?” Noah’s voice dropped even lower, laced with a dangerous edge. “Do you even understand the risk you’re taking with her life?”

Brad took a step closer himself, the tension between the two men palpable. “I understand the risk better than you think. But I also understand the stakes. If this was a professional job, they don’t care about loose ends. They care about finishing what they started. Ruth’s safest option is for us to stay ahead of them—and we don’t do that by burying our heads in the sand.”

Noah’s fists clenched, his shoulders taut. “Stay ahead without putting her in the spotlight. You don’t need half the world involved. I want her out of this.”

“Out?” Brad’s voice hardened, his calm façade slipping just enough to reveal his frustration. “She was almost killed, Noah. You both were. Pretending she isn’t part of this equation doesn’t make her any less of a target. I don’t like this any more than you do, but I’m not about to play it safe and get someone killed because we didn’t act fast enough.”

Noah’s glare didn’t waver, but the conviction in Brad’s voice gave him pause. “And what if your ‘all hands on deck’ approach makes her a bigger target? What if the wrong person finds out she’s still breathing?”

Brad’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a low, measured tone. “You think I’d risk that? Every move we’re making is calculated. Every person involved knows what’s at stake and what they’re protecting. If Ruth’s alive right now, it’s because of quick decisions and smart thinking, not because we tiptoed around the issue.” He blew out a hard breath. “The explosion is all over the news—no names, and we are calling it a gas leak.”

The silence stretched between them, taut with tension. Finally, Brad continued, his tone resolute, “I understand your instinct to protect her. But understand this: my job is to ensure she doesn’t need protecting because we’ve already neutralized the threat. That’s the only way this ends. So, unless you’re planning to solve this yourself, you’re going to have to trust me to do my job.”

Noah’s jaw worked as if he were biting back another retort, his fists unclenching just slightly. “Fine. But keep her name out of your reports. No leaks, no chatter.”