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Paul crossed his arms but didn’t interrupt.

“Tristan and James can take over her care,” Noah continued. “She’ll be safe there, and we can figure out our next move. Once we’re in position, I’ll take down Fairchild for extortion, bribery, conspiracy to commit murder—and then we can go after everyone he paid off. Once that threat is gone, maybe—hopefully—Ruth will remember.”

Paul’s expression darkened, and he took a step forward. “Didn’t you hear me?” His voice was quieter now but thick with warning. “She may not tolerate remembering.”

Noah clenched his jaw. He knew what Paul was saying. He knew this wasn’t as simple as just waiting for Ruth’s sight to return. If her blindness was psychological, then remembering could come at a cost. A cost they might not be prepared for.

But what choice did they have?

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. “She deserves the truth, Paul. And so do we.”

Paul hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Just be ready for what that truth might do to her.”

Noah’s stomach twisted, but he forced himself to nod.

He wasn’t ready. But he had to be.

* * *

A week later,Ruth sat at the small kitchen table, listening to the rhythmic clinking of utensils as Noah moved around. She could hear him opening cabinets, the quiet rustle of food packaging, the faint scrape of a knife against a cutting board. She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of something warm and light—broth, maybe, with a hint of herbs.

Three weeks had passed since she last saw anything. The darkness no longer startled her, but it still left her feeling hollow, as if she had been locked away inside herself with no way out.

“You’re quiet,” Noah said gently, setting something in front of her.

She managed a small smile. “I’m listening. Smelling. Trying to guess what you made.”

Noah let out a soft chuckle. “Simple soup. I didn’t think you’d have the energy for anything heavy.”

She reached forward, and before she could fumble, Noah guided her hand to the spoon. His touch was warm, grounding.

“You okay?” he asked, softer now.

Ruth nodded, though she wasn’t sure it was true. “Just tired.”

“Then eat,” he said. “You need your strength.”

She lifted the spoon to her lips, letting the warmth soothe her. It wasn’t just the soup. It was him. His presence, his voice, the quiet way he took care of her without making her feel like a burden.

They ate in near silence, only the occasional clink of silverware between them. When she finally set the spoon down, her exhaustion was bone-deep.

Paul had been strict about what she could and couldn’t do, but after some convincing, he allowed Noah to help her to the bathroom. The idea of him helping her shower should have embarrassed her, but it didn’t. Maybe because it wasNoah. Because she trusted him in a way that went beyond words.

The warm water cascaded over her skin, soothing, grounding—but not enough to chase away the static in her mind. Noah’s hands were steady as he guided her, never hesitant, never awkward. His touch was always careful, never lingering too long, never making her feel small.

But something flickered.

A memory. A ghost of sensation.

The press of his body against hers. Heat. A whispered name—her name— Rae. Her breath hitched, fingers gripping his arm just a little too tightly.

Noah froze, instinctively steadying her. “Rae?”

She swallowed hard, the memory slipping just out of reach, like trying to hold on to mist. Was it real? Or just something her mind desperately wanted to be true?

Noah’s hands were gentle, guiding her out of the shower, wrapping her in a soft towel. She should have been cold, but she wasn’t—not with him this close. He led her back to bed, his movements careful, protective, helping her dress, tucking the blankets around her like she was something fragile. Something precious.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words. The memories weren’t whole. They weren’t solid. But she felt them. She felt him. And somehow, deep down, she knew. She hadn’t just trusted Noah with her life. She had trusted him with all of her.