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Flames. Heat. The sound of metal bending.

She shook her head, her mind fighting itself, trying to hold on?—

“Ruth,” Paul’s voice broke through, closer now. “It’s Paul. I’m right next to you. I want you to breathe with me.” His hand guided hers, placing it gently on his chest. “Slow breaths.”

The steady rise and fall beneath her palm pulled her back from the edge. Her body gave in, exhaustion winning. Her eyes grew heavy. And then… nothing.

* * *

Noah watchedas Paul adjusted Ruth's nasal cannula and took another set of vitals.

"Out," Paul said firmly. "She needs to sleep. Her body can't take any more stress."

Noah nodded and grabbed his laptop, stepping out of Ruth’s room. They left the door open."We can hear her," Paul advised.

Once outside, Noah dropped his head into his hands as his mind raced. Ruth was in the lion’s den. Her boss. Melanie?

“She went to get her boots,” Noah said suddenly. “She had a coat area set up—shared the space with Melanie.”

“Who’s Melanie?”

“Her secretary.”

Paul frowned, processing this. “The envelope… what’s the significance of it?”

Noah hesitated, then pulled an envelope from his pocket. “This is how Hilton gave me mine.” His fingers tightened around it. “If Ruth saw one in her office, that means it was another thumb drive.”

Paul’s expression darkened. “Then the question is—did Dylan Grant give it to Melanie? Or did she already have it on her own?”

Noah exhaled sharply. And then it hit him.

Luke Andrews.“That’s why the ATF agent is after Melanie. She isn’t just connected—she is a key piece of the investigation.”

Paul studied Noah’s face. “So… what are you going to do?”

Noah let out a slow breath. “Put together a case. Help Ruth heal.” He paused, jaw tightening. “And then head home.”

Paul stared at Noah. “You look disheveled. Go to bed.” He yawned. “Sleep while Ruth sleeps. You need sleep. You’ll do better rested.”

Noah’s vision blurred slightly. His body ached.

Paul shoved him out the door and toward another bedroom. “Lie down. That’s an order. I’ll stay with Ruth. Even if I doze, the monitor alarms will get me up.”

Noah resisted for two seconds before his body gave up on him. He barely hit the pillow before his eyes shut.

Thirty-Three

The roads were finally clear. Snowbanks lined the streets, pushed aside by the plows, but the world still felt heavy, muted. Blake Ellison drove in silence, his knuckles tight on the wheel, the heater blasting in a futile attempt to thaw the chill settling deep in his bones. Ruth Everhart was in a coma.

The thought pressed down on him, a silent reminder that life could unravel faster than any of them could control. Ruth was a chip off her father’s block. So like him in so many ways. Years later, he still missed his old friend, especially in times like these. He would have hired her even if she was a bad attorney, but she was brilliant. Now, she was lying in a hospital bed. Charlotte sounded lost when he spoke with her.

Blake pulled into the garage, past the familiar row of cars, his eyes flicking over the sleek black sedan parked near the entrance. Dylan's car. Matt Brandt’s ostentatious Hummer. But Ruth’s car wasn’t there.

He swallowed hard. There was no time to dwell. He stepped into the cold, his breath a ghostly plume in the frigid air as he made his way inside. The office seemed normal. The usual hum of conversation and ringing phones were present, but the underlying atmosphere was thick with something unspoken. Sadness.

He headed straight for Ruth’s office, pushing the door open to find Melanie at her desk. She glanced up, the shadows under her eyes telling him she hadn’t been sleeping much either. "Mr. Ellison," she greeted, already sensing why he was there.

"Has Matt asked you to pull all of Ruth’s cases?" he asked, his tone brisk.