Page 112 of Hide From Me

“You’re bleeding,” I manage, barely louder than a breath.

He laughs—really laughs, a choked sound full of disbelief, like he doesn’t feel the pain or thinks he deserves it. Or maybe he just doesn't care. His chest heaves with exertion and something deeper, something unraveling beneath the surface.

“I finally feel sane. You understand? I finally feel like I have the answers.”

Sane.

He says it like he’s won something.

I don’t move. My feet might as well be nailed to the floor. The cloth in my hand slips, falls to the ground without a sound as I stare at this man in front of me—his body broken and bleeding, voice strung out, trembling from loss and hope all tangled together—and I don’t recognize him.

Who the hell are you?

His smile falters. Just a flicker—but it’s there. His eyes drop, tracing past me to the coffee table. To the NDA file I left open. The classified words that spilled everything he wouldn’t.

He stills. The energy drains from him in an instant, like the sight of that paper pulls him back to earth. His voice drops to a whisper that feels like it’s meant for just me.

“Baby…”

I flinch. God, I flinch so hard I feel it in my bones. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. But the word hits like a bruise, and my body reacts before my mind can stop it.

His face crumples—not with anger. Not with frustration. Just hurt. A hurt so raw it carves new cracks into the man already falling apart in front of me.

“I was going to tell you, I swear. But this—” he gestures to himself, to the blood, to the carnage stitched into his skin, “—this is what I come from. And I thought if I told you, if I let you see all of it too soon, you’d run. Do you—do you know how hard it was choosing between the family that raised me and you?”

I want to scream at him. Tell him that he doesn’t get to make that choice for me. That he doesn’t get to protect me by keeping me in the dark and then expect me to light the way for him when he stumbles home half-dead. Yet, even in my fury, some twisted part of me understands. His world is brutal. Secretive. It chews people up and spits them out soulless. It made him this.

He steps forward.

I step back, and it makes him pause like I just hit him.

“I know how this looks—God, I know how it looks. But this doesn’t make mehim. I’m not bad.”

My lips part, the edges of words forming—but I don’t get to speak. The front door slams open with a crack of splintered wood and torn hinges.

“Moe!” Caspian’s voice booms through the house like a goddamn thunderclap. Sam and Cordelia push in behind him, guns drawn, scanning corners like we’re still in enemy territory. Laura rushes in seconds later, Jasmine on her heels, and their eyes go wide the second they see Moe.

“Please don’t look at me like that…” He chokes, his voice unraveling.

“Moe—what the fuck—” Caspian yells, going still when he registers the damage.

“He uh–” I clear my throat forcing my focus away from Moe, “He came in like that.”

I can feel it, his stare burning into the side of my face like he's trying to read if I’m saying it as a triggered response from the sins I’ve committed or if I’m just trying to break the invisible string that's tying me to him.

“Clear!” Sharkie yells from down the hall making me jump and Moe, trying to step towards me, pulls my attention again just in time to watch him stumble.

“Jesus Christ, he’s hit. He’s not patched. He didn’t even check in—what the fuck were you thinking?!” Caspian barrels forward and catches Moe just before he hits the floor. Blood smears across both of them. Moe’s practically deadweight as Caspian hoists him upright.

“Clear!” Sam matches as he rushes past Laura and Jasmine back into the living room.

“Why the fuck didn’t you go to medical?” Caspian growls, shaking him gently, panic slipping through the cracks in his voice.

“I was following my light home,” Moe breathes. He says it like it’s a fact. Like it’s a prayer. Like it was always supposed to be me. It feels as if my chest is caving in on itself. I'd love to have the fucking opportunity to google what the natural human response to all these emotions would be, but obviously that's not an option. I raise my arm to my cheek, feeling the heat and wet streak burn into my arm like a memory as I wipe away the tears I’m sure are falling but I can't feel.

Caspian curses under his breath, shoving his shoulder under Moe’s arm, struggling to hold him upright. “We need pressure on this now. Sam—get the med bag. Laura, gauze. Jasmine, stabilize the leg if you can.”

“Raylen…” he says, soft and aching. “Baby, please.”