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The drive home is torture.

Every instinct screams to turn around, to camp outside her door, to stand guard against the monster who thinks he owns her.

But I force myself to keep driving.

She needs time to come to the decision herself.

To realize she's worth saving, to understand that there are people who'll fight for her if she lets them.

But I make myself a promise as I pull into the clubhouse parking lot.

I'm keeping tabs on Dylan Mitchell starting now.

I’ll learn his routines, his weaknesses, his connections, because when Everly finally says the word—and she will—I'll be ready.

And if she waits too long, if he hurts her worse than he already has?

Then I'll make the decision for her.

Because some promises are worth breaking, but the one I made to my dying mother isn't one of them.

Protect the ones who can't protect themselves.

Even if they don't know they need protecting yet.

Even if they're too scared to ask for help.

Even if it means crossing lines that can't be uncrossed.

She’s worth the risk, worth the consequences, worth whatever comes next.

I just hope she figures that out before it's too late.

My phone buzzes as I'm walking inside.

It’s a text from an unknown number.

Thank you for checking on me.

I save the number immediately and text back:

Anytime.

Three dots appear, like she's typing something else.

They disappear. Reappear. Disappear again.

Finally:

I mean it. Thank you.

Get some rest,I send back.And ice those ribs.

A long pause, then:

How did you know?

The way you're moving. Been in enough fights to recognize the signs.