Page 38 of Misery

People start filing out. But Ivar blocks my path.

"I don't trust you with her."

The words hang in the air between us like a challenge.

Ivar's shoulders are squared, his stance wide—a fighter's position even though we’re having a conversation.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway cast harsh shadows across his scarred face, making him look older, meaner.

"Your trust isn't required." I keep my voice level, but my muscles coil with tension.

The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, too confined for two predators sizing each other up.

"She's my daughter."

The way he says it—possessive, final—makes my jaw clench.

His hands flex at his sides, tattoos rippling across his knuckles.

Old ink, old damage.

A father who's fought for his family before.

"And she's under my protection. Officially now. President's orders, remember?"

His hand goes to his knife. Not drawing. Just resting there. The leather sheath worn smooth from years of the same gesture. A warning that's become a habit. "If anything happens to her?—"

"Nothing will on my watch, old man."

The certainty in my voice makes him step closer.

Close enough I can smell the cigarette smoke on his cut, see the red veining his eyes from lack of sleep. "You can't promise that."

"Watch me." The words come out harder than intended.

Emil steps between us, his bulk forcing us apart. "Enough. Both of you. This isn't helping Elfe."

"Your brother thinks he owns my daughter," Ivar spits. Actual spit flies from his mouth, catching the light. His face is flushed now, anger bringing color to his weathered skin.

"I know I can keep her alive," I correct, forcing my shoulders to relax, trying to de-escalate. The hallway feels like it's pressing in, other members giving us a wide berth as they pass. "That's all that matters right now."

Ivar shifts his weight forward, aggressive, and I can see the punch he wants to throw in the way his right shoulder dips slightly. "Is it? Because from where I'm standing?—"

"From where you're standing," Runes interrupts, returning, "you see a man who eliminated two threats to your daughter last night. Who got her to safety. Who's volunteering to put himself between her and danger. Maybe try being grateful instead of suspicious."

Ivar's jaw works. But he nods and steps aside.

I head for the main room and find Elfe surrounded by the women—Saga, Starla, Astrid, Meghan.

All of them talking at once. The dogs form a protective circle, Luna pressed against Elfe's leg.

She looks up when I approach.

Something passes between us. Understanding maybe. Or recognition of what's coming.

"We're heading to Emil and Saga’s place," I tell her. "Now."

"Both of us?"