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"I'll take you in," said Anita, slipping her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. "Follow me."

I nodded, gulping down the thickness in my throat. Wilkinson allowed us to part from him, and I followed Anita down the hall.

"She's fragile, Caroline," she said once we were alone. "Go slow. Don't question."

"I know how to treat her, Anita—"

"Listen to me." Anita stopped me by the nurses' station, her hand on my shoulder again. "Calm and even. Gentle and soft. Okay?"

I nodded, blinking away the tears that rushed me at the directive. "I always am."

"I'm not convinced that he didn't rape her." Anita's clinical gaze faltered then. "I'm not convinced. She's traumatized. Keep the lights off save for the dim one beside the bed. Her eyes are very sensitive from where he kept her."

Rage boiled my blood, but I hung on her every word. "All right."

She nodded, her hand falling to the small of my back when she led me into the dimly lit room. My heart pounded in my chest, but I breathed through it the way I always did. In all our times together, my steadiness fueled Nora's and I knew I needed to carry that with me today despite my fear for her.

She lay there, on the slightly elevated bed, curled up on her side with her head on her knees. The blankets lay around her shoulders as if someone tucked her in. Wires and monitors hooked up to her beeped rhythmically while I fought the urge to rush her. Bruises splattered her neck in the exposed places I could see, and she held her arms out in front of her, both of her wrists wrapped in bandages. Her hands appeared raw and red, as if exposed to the cold for too long.

I looked to Anita, and she offered me an encouraging nod.

With cautious steps, I approached the bed, leaning against it with my hip before brushing the back of my knuckles over her hair. The moment I touched her, tears tumbled down my cheeks, but I didn't make a sound. Anita joined us by the other side of the bed, her eyes on the beeping monitors for a moment.

Nora stirred slightly, lifting her head up though her eyes remained closed. The welts on her face killed me, stabbing me in the heart as my mind lost its tether. I imagined what he did to her, what she'd been through and I could hardly hold it together. I leaned forward and placed a soft kiss between her eyebrows, and the second my lips pressed her flesh, she animated. Squinted eyes gazed up at me, widening for a fraction of a second before melting to tears.

"It's just me," I whispered, feathering my knuckles along the curve of her chin.

She nodded and choked on a sob, her fingers twitching from the place where she gathered her hands against her knees.

"She can't move her arms very well," Anita said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry," Nora cried, her voice hoarse and broken. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, honey." My hands hovered over her, unsure of where to touch without hurting her.

Tears streamed her cheeks and she shook her head, her fingers pinching my shirt between them.

"I'm here with you now. You're safe with me, right?" I swallowed down my feelings, though my trickling tears matched Nora's.

She nodded, closing her eyes and moving closer to me a fraction. I shifted my position to sit properly on the bed with her and wrapped my arm around the tiny ball that she was in the linens. Her sobs left her in gentle waves, and I pressed my lips to the top of her head while looking over at Anita. She swiped at her cheeks, the weight of the situation breaking her as it broke me.

Nora fell asleep, or passed out again, within seconds, her head pressed against my chest. I choked on a sob, my gaze lingering on Anita as she dropped her hand down on Nora's knee. The two of us shared our tears for Nora, neither one of us speaking a word.

***

The next day brought all of us to Grays Harbor. Nora signed herself out of the hospital against medical advice, but with the support of Anita. Nora shut down, her silence locking everyone out. She moved willingly with my guidance but didn't say anything. Her quietness worried me more than the bruises on her body that I knew would heal given time. Physical wounds we could see. Emotional ones wore cloaks that kept them hidden.

Wilkinson insisted that we head to James' house because there was some suspicion that Perkins didn't act alone. Miller and Nora, both vulnerable with their injuries, hunkered down surrounded by dozens of armed guards. All I could do was standby and pace. James' twin sister, like a fucking clone, served everyone tea and fussed over the basic needs of anyone who crossed their paths. James and I didn't speak much when we first arrived. Our shared silence and equally sharp gazes seemed to communicate our deepest emotions. For some reason, the idea of talking with her felt like poking a water balloon with a dull stick. Would it break? Would it hold? It depended on the fragility of the rubber.

Neither of us seemed willing to test it for the time being.

"Caroline," Miller approached me when I exited the guest bedroom where Nora slept.

I met her gaze before closing the door behind me. "Hey."

"How is she?" She gestured to the door.

"Not good." I folded my arms over my chest. "How's your leg?"