Page 49 of Infamous

There’s no use arguing with men like him. They don’t hearno. They heartry again.

So I nod once, tight. “We’ll see.”

He smiles like I’ve already agreed. “Good girl.”

He turns to leave, his security detail falling into place around him in a wall of protection. The door swings shut behind them, leaving only the scent of expensive cologne and entitlement.

I stand there for a long moment, pulse pounding in my ears.

When I finally move, it’s to make a note in the patient’s chart with a hand that isn’t as steady as I want it to be.

Because I already know how this story goes.

Men like Graves don’task.They take. And I have the oddest feeling he’s just decided to make me his next cause.

I’m so lostin my own head when I step out of the hospital that the city barely registers—until a hand closes around my arm and jerks me to a stop.

“Goddammit, Nadia.” Michael’s voice slices through the night. His grip is iron; nicotine and expensive cologne choke the air. “You can’t keep ignoring me.”

“Let me go.” My voice is thin but steady.

“No. We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing left to talk about.”

“We are going to talk.”

A voice cuts through the dark - low, calm, absolute. “She said let go.”

Michael stiffens. My head jerks up.

A man stands a few feet away, calmly silent. He seems ordinary at first glance, until his eyes find you. His eyes don’t look at you; they strip you bare.

“Move on,” Michael snaps. “This has nothing to do with you.”

The stranger doesn’t flinch. “It does now.”

His gaze flicks to me. A question without words. I don’t answer, but I don’t look away either. That’s all it takes.

Michael drops my arm like it burned him. “This isn’t over,” he mutters, backing off into the dark.

My knees tremble, but I try to calm them. My heart hammers so loud I can barely hear the city.

The stranger steps closer, although he maintains a decent distance between us. “You okay?”

I nod, lying.

He jerks his chin toward the hospital. “Come on.”

He doesn’t touch me, but he walks close. Close enough that I feel the heat of him at my side, close enough that the air shifts when he moves. There’s protection in the space between us, the kind that feels instinctive, gentle.

And still, I follow. Not because I should, but because my body moves before my mind can protest. A stranger, a promise of safety, and the echo of footsteps leading me back into the sterile corridors of the hospital.

The café is half-empty. He orders two without asking, pays in silence, then sets a bottle of water on the table between us.

“Drink,” he says, quiet but firm, and it’s not a request as much as it is a command.

I do. The chill steadies me. “Thank you for stepping in like that—” I could kick myself for being too distracted to see Michael approaching.