Page 91 of Twisted Violet

Rome turns toward the door.

I crouch again beside her, slower this time.

Her eyes flick toward me, barely a glance, but it’s something.

“You’re safe,” I whisper, barely more than breath. “You’re safe.”

Her fingers twitch, and for the first time since the panic hit, she blinks like she’s coming back to herself.

I don’t say anything else.

I just stay there.

Close. Solid.

Because right now, she doesn’t need saving.

She just needs to know she’s not alone.

THIRTY-THREE

STEVIE

I don’t askquestions when Rome calls.

He says six words:She needs you. It’s bad. Hurry,and that’s enough to make my heart claw at my ribs.

Tris is already grabbing his keys before I hang up. Ezra, Atlas, and Cyrus follow with no need for explanation.

No one says it, but we all feel it. Something’s wrong with Alex. And whatever it is, we’re not letting her face it alone.

By the time we make it to the penthouse, I’m already rehearsing worst-case scenarios in my head.

Broken bones. Blood. Maybe a body. What I’m not prepared for is the silence.

When the elevator doors open, no one’s shouting, no one’s crying, but something is still very, very wrong.

Alex iscurled up on the couch, spine pressed to the corner like she’s trying to sink into the cushions. Her hair’s a mess, her face pale, and her eyes…fuck, her eyes are blank.

Dallas is a few feet away, sitting on the floor like the weight of it has crushed him. His puppy is next to him, looking even sadder than he does. Rome’s by the window, pacing like he wants to punch something. Niko’s perched on the edge of the coffee table, elbows on his knees, watching her like she might vanish if he blinks.

Atlas stiffens beside me. His hand clenches into a fist at his side, like he’s holding back the urge to storm over and fix it all with brute force.

Ezra’s jaw ticks once, twice. His entire body goes still, but I know him well enough to see the way he catalogues every detail. Every breath, every tremble, as if memorizing them will somehow make her okay.

Cyrus is the first to move. Quiet. Controlled. He steps around the couch and grabs the throw blanket from the armrest, and gently tucks it around Alex’s shoulders with the kind of tenderness you wouldn’t expect from a man who’s killed for less.

Tristan flicks his gaze toward Alex and his jaw tightens. He pulls his phone out, tapping commands with mechanical precision, no doubt already hacking into the building’s security feed.

I move toward her slowly, careful not to spook her.

“Alex,” I say.

Nothing. Not a twitch. Not a blink.

I crouch beside her and place a hand on the couch cushion, close enough for her to feel me, far enough not to trigger whatever the hell’s holding her hostage.

“I’m here, baby sis,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”