She's watching me.

Not with fear.

Not with disgust.

With understanding.

With certainty.

"It's okay," she says, stepping forward.

I don't move.

My grip tightens around the knife, my entire body coiled, my vision red.

I want to finish this.

I need to.

But then⁠—

She reaches out.

Her fingers grazing my wrist, anchoring me back to reality.

And just like that⁠—

The rage breaks.

My breath stutters.

My muscles relax, just slightly.

I look down at Evan—bloody, broken, barely breathing.

And I make my choice.

I drop the knife. It clatters against the concrete.

Stand.

Take her hand instead. Her palm is soft against my calloused one.

And walk away.

Together.

TURNS OUT CALEB WAS REAL ALL ALONG

IZZY

There are cops everywhere.

Flashing lights, voices on radios, officers moving in and out of the warehouse. It's a scene straight out of a crime drama, only this time, I'm in it. The brisk night air nips at my exposed skin, carrying the scent of the nearby Hudson River mingled with diesel from the police vehicles.

I sit on the back of an ambulance, a scratchy wool blanket wrapped around my shoulders—Amanda's doing. She practically threw it at me before marching off to argue with a cop about jurisdiction, purely for the sake of making herself a nuisance. The blanket smells faintly of antiseptic and feels heavy against my shoulders, but I welcome its warmth.

I glance over at Cal. He suggested we leave since he'd already spoken to the officers and given them his statement. We were just waiting for Evan to be led out in handcuffs. He told me I didn't need to see that, but I insisted I did. Cal nodded like he understood my need for closure, so now we're sitting here, waiting beneath the harsh glow of the emergency lights.

He's next to me, sitting still, his hands clasped together, knuckles scraped and bruised, fingers curled tight against his palms. His shirt is spattered with dark stains I try not to think about too much.

But his hands are shaking slightly.

I thread my fingers through his, feeling the textured strength of his hand, his heat seeping into my cold skin.

His head turns toward me immediately. His hands instantly go still.

I squeeze gently.

"Thank you," I whisper.

I can see the guilt in his eyes as he exhales through his nose, before looking away. "I should have seen it sooner," he mutters. "Shouldn't have gotten distracted. I let you get taken. I told you I'd always be watching and I wasn't."

I shake my head softly, my hair brushing against the wool blanket. "But you got here. That's what matters."

He stares at me for a long second, clearly wanting to argue. There's a fire in his eyes that makes my heart flutter, even with exhaustion dragging at my limbs.

Finally, he exhales, rubbing his thumb against the inside of my wrist. The gentle circular motion of his thumb sends a wave of comfort through my body.

My other hand drifts absently to his dog tags still hanging beneath my shirt. I twist the chain around my fingers.

His eyes notice the movement. “You’re wearing them?”

I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “Every day.”

He’s quiet for a beat, then shifts slightly, reaching into his jacket pocket. When he pulls his hand out, there’s a flash of familiar blue glass between his fingers.

“Been carrying it around like a lunatic.”

An officer starts walking toward us, notebook in hand, but Amanda intercepts immediately—hands on her hips, already launching into a rapid-fire speech about proper procedure and victim rights. The poor guy doesn't stand a chance.

Cal and I watch for a moment before I shake my head.

"Who the hell is Amanda?" I mutter, my lips curving into a small smile.

He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have no idea."

I exhale, leaning into him, sinking into the warmth of his side and the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. My body molds naturally against his larger frame. The adrenaline fades, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and profound relief that makes my muscles feel like liquid.

Then I lift my head, curiosity getting the better of me. My hair falls across my face, and I tuck it behind my ear.

"How did you know where I was?"

He tenses immediately, muscles going rigid beneath my touch. I half-expect him not to answer.

"I had access to your phone," he admits finally, voice rough, like saying it is almost painful. "I hacked into it my first day at the store. Huge violation of trust. I shouldn't have⁠—"

I press my fingers to his lips, stopping him. His lips are surprisingly soft against my fingertips.

He blinks.

"Cal.” My words are calm. "I'm glad you did."

His brows furrow in confusion. "What?"

I shrug lightly, the blanket slipping slightly off my shoulder. "I know it sounds crazy, but thank God you did. You saved me."

His entire body relaxes slightly, the tension draining from his shoulders.

I rest my head against him. "It's kind of nice, you know?" I murmur softly. "Having someone who's a completely dedicated protector for you. Makes you feel valued."

A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest as his arm curls around my shoulders, pulling me close. His warmth seeps through my sweater, chasing away the chill that had settled in my bones.

The tension inside me unravels as I lean into Cal's embrace. For the first time since waking up in the warehouse with its concrete floors and musty air, I finally feel safe. I close my eyes briefly, then turn my face toward him, my nose brushing against the stubble on his jaw.

"I know, by the way."

His grip tightens slightly. "Know what, pretty girl?"

I smile softly. "I know you're Caleb."

His entire body stiffens. He turns to me fully now, eyes wide and vulnerable, reflecting the blue and red lights flashing around us.

"Izzy... what?" His voice cracks slightly.

I squeeze his hand, feeling the roughness of his palm against mine. “I first started to suspect it when Caleb called me ‘Izzy’ from time to time.” I let out a breathy laugh. “The chat history didn’t disappear, and when I sobered up, I went back and reread our conversations. At first, I thought maybe the app knew my real name from my credit card or something, so I wasn’t completely positive. But I knew for sre when you called me ‘pretty girl’ in the car yesterday.”

His brows knit together, but I keep going, watching his expression shift in the wavering light.

"It clicked right then," I explain gently. "You hesitated—just slightly. You never hesitate. But you did then, and I noticed."

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. "Then why did you keep⁠—?"

I shrug. "It was fun."

His jaw slackens in surprise, his eyes widening.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing at his expression. "I liked talking to Caleb," I admit quietly. "My relationship with him developed differently from ours. It made me comfortable. Besides, since I did suspect it was you all along, no harm done. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

His expression shifts, confusion turning to relief, the crease between his brows softening. "You're not... mad?"

I shake my head slightly, my hair brushing against his shoulder. “I don’t like that you kept something like that from me," I admit, tracing a pattern on his palm with my index finger. "But you didn't use it in a negative way or to manipulate me, so... I can forgive you."