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Every one of them froze at that tone. Expressions going sly, brows lifting, grins forming.

D-Day’s assessing blue eyes shifting between her, then Zorro.

They filled with glee, his mouth kicking up.

She thought she was going to pass out when he opened his mouth.

Oh, no, please don’t let him say what I think ? —

“Okay, amigo ,” he said, his tone placating and knowing at the same time. “We’ll leave you with your girlfriend and bleed quietly outside while we wait our turns.”

Zorro swore under his breath as they backed out, comments flying between them in a tone that was too low for her to hear, but she could imagine.

The quiet was deafening. She turned back to him, reaching for the threaded needle and the gauze. Quietly, she stitched the wound, using the gauze to clean any residual blood that welled.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his tone like a gunshot.

“Six months,” she murmured, her voice not quite steady.

Zorro’s eyes narrowed slightly, but not with suspicion. Understanding. “I was wounded six months ago.” He tilted his head slightly, gesturing to the scar. “But you already knew that.”

Her breath snagged. Gently, she pressed a fresh bandage over the stitches, sealing the skin with careful precision. “Keep this dry,” she whispered.

But he wasn’t done.

“Here the same time as me…” he drawled, voice lower now, solemn at the edges. “You didn’t stop by the hospital to visit? That cuts deep.” She looked up sharply, but he was already watching her, gaze locked to hers, reading her like a map. “Unless you did.”

The air between them turned electric.

She wasn’t going to fall for that bait. She wouldn’t.

She couldn’t. But her eyes dropped to his mouth anyway, traitorous and slow.

“I’m off shift,” she said quickly. “You should really get some rest.” She turned away, needing distance like oxygen, but his fingers wrapped around her wrist. The contact burned. She flinched.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, the words sharper than intended. She jerked back, knocking over the tray beside her. Instruments clattered to the floor, forceps, gauze red with his blood, the metal basin splashing water across the tiles, spinning before it stilled.

He looked at her like she’d just cracked in front of him. His expression, concerned, unguarded, unraveled something she wasn’t ready to face.

She couldn’t breathe. Let him speculate. He had no proof. “I’ve got to go,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Then she turned and fled past the man whose touch still burned into her wrist, into the hallway thick with heat and noise, straight into the wall of his teammates, caught between hard chests and tall bodies. She pushed past them all, past the jokes, past the noise, past her own foolish reaction.

She came out of the room fast and distressed. Dakota “Bear” Locklear didn’t say much, but he didn’t miss much either. Right now, he knew one thing for sure: a woman doesn’t move like that unless she’s running from something.

He caught her before she stumbled, just shifted to block her path, steadying her with presence alone. She didn’t even realize he had kept her from falling. She just pushed past them into the hallway toward the exit.

“Flint,” he murmured.

Without another word, the pure black dog, broad-shouldered, lean-muscled, every line of him honed for work and war, trotted forward, calm and sure. He set himself directly in front of her, a living presence she couldn’t walk through. Dr. Quinn stopped moving and looked down at his partner.

Flint looked up, his sharp, intelligent eyes, filled with the kind of compassion only a dog could offer. They knew stress. Flint understood better than most.

She didn’t look up at first. Didn’t seem to notice anything but the hallway floor and whatever had spooked her.

He’d seen that look too many times to count. It didn’t usually belong to doctors. But it belonged to warriors. People who had seen too much and still had to keep going.

Her fists were clenched too tight. Her shoulders were shaking.

Fear . The kind of fear that didn’t shout but buried itself deep in the bones.

The kind warriors didn’t admit to but carried like ghosts beneath the skin.

He recognized it for what it was, a woman too afraid to understand her own heart.

But Bear had seen something else in her. From the very beginning.

Courage . Not the conscious kind, but the warrior kind, soul courage, that wouldn’t fail her if she reached for it. If she believed. No one could walk that terrifying path for her. It would only accept her footsteps.

He swallowed hard. From the beginning, the moment he saw her, she reminded him of his youngest sister, Ayla.

The memory of her still haunted him. She had disappeared when she’d been fifteen while he was crushing BUD/S—a decision he made to escape the impoverished life in South Dakota on the Pine Ridge Reservation.

With the money he’d made from being a SEAL, a portion of it went home to his parents, who were able to find more stable housing and feed and raise his youngest brother, Nathaniel.

Finally, she registered Flint. He didn’t move. Didn’t look to Bear for orders. He just held her gaze, still and waiting.

“Hey, there, boy.” Her voice was hoarse. “I didn’t give you a proper greeting. Leave it to you to remind me.”

She reached down, fingers curling into his fur like she needed something real to hold on to.

That’s when Bear stepped in.

“Doc,” he said, voice low and grounded.

She blinked. Looked up, her expression underneath a war between control and something pushing for recognition, for ownership. He didn’t press. Didn’t ask. He just stayed still. Let her choose.

Then movement behind her.

Zorro stepped into view, bare-chested, vest slung over one shoulder, eyes locked on her like she was a thread he wasn’t ready to cut loose. His posture was relaxed, but Bear saw the truth of it, the tension in the shoulders, the weight in the jaw. The way he tracked her every breath.

Bear could read a room. Read them both.

Whatever passed between them was tangled, sharp, and unfinished.

He’d heard them argue before, low, clipped, restrained.

Like they were trying not to wake something dangerous between them.

But this…this wasn’t a simple argument, and that thing was stirring now.

Something deeper.Something that didn’t have language yet.

Lines were being drawn. A battle was being forged.

His brother? Zorro knew how to fight. No question, but he also knew how to heal.

But Dr. Quinn stood her ground. He was going to have to decide whether this was the hill he wanted to die on.

Dr. Quinn wasn’t just one battle. She was a war.

Zorro would need everything in his arsenal to win.

Not just strength. Not just charm. He’d have to face his own truths.

Bear smiled when he saw it. All is fair in love and war.

That steel behind his eyes, the glint of his trident etched into his soul.

A vow, a promise, a challenge in both blood and heart.

He reached out, let his fingers brush her elbow. Featherlight. Just enough to ground her. He felt the tremor beneath her skin. That was enough.

“Let us walk you out, Dr. Quinn,” he said gently. “Flint’s getting restless.”

She straightened, reflexive denial knocking her down before she could stop it.

“That’s not necessary. You must be exhausted. I’ll be fine.” But she swayed. Most wouldn’t have caught it. He did. He didn’t look at her. He looked at Zorro. Met his eyes. I’ve got this, brother. Zorro gave a nod. Nothing more. But the weight of it hit like a hand to the chest.

“I insist,” Bear said. He turned back to her.

Still waiting, just offering his support to someone trying to find her footing on uneven ground, not only for her, but for himself, and for the medic who guarded his team, for the brother who lived and breathed his oath, for the man who ached to be the one to help her.

Bear knew how to walk people out of places like this. Not just hospitals. Not just danger. Moments. The kind that left you breathless with things you didn’t have the words for.

She sighed, reached out, her fingers curling around his forearm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zorro’s head bow, the pain in his body tightening. Bear’s smile was slight. This was going to come to a head. Maybe not here, maybe not now, but soon.

He and Flint moved as one, taking her weight so she could breathe a little, a calm before the storm.

Just there.

Like the mountain he was named for.