The cave was too quiet. Not the usual restless quiet — not the kind filled with music or laughter or Marko pacing like a caged animal. Paul’s foot bouncing while he sat. This silence was tight, coiled, like something was being held back by force alone.

You leaned against the stone wall near the fire pit, jacket half-slipped from your shoulders, fingers slick with blood that wasn’t all yours.

Dwayne was in front of you in an instant.

“Hey,” *he said, low and steady, hands coming up carefully, like he was afraid of startling you. “Easy. Sit.”

You tried to brush it off — you always did — but the sharp inhale you couldn’t quite stop gave you away. His jaw tightened, but his touch stayed gentle as he guided you down onto the edge of the rock ledge.

David hadn’t said a word yet.

That was worse.

He paced once, twice, boots scraping against stone, eyes dark and furious — not at you but at the thought of who had touched you. Hurt you. Come that close.

“A hunter,” he said finally, voice calm in the way that meant it absolutely wasn’t. “Tell me where.”

“I handled it,” you said, quieter now.

David stopped moving.

“You got hit,” he snapped, eyes flicking to the blood soaking into your sleeve. “That’s not ‘handled.’”

Dwayne shot him a look — sharp, warning — before turning back to you. His thumb brushed near the wound, careful not to touch it directly. “You did everything right,” he said, firmly. “They caught you off guard. That’s not on you.”

David exhaled through his teeth, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve been there.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You felt the shift immediately — the way his anger twisted inward, the way his control frayed just enough to show fear underneath it.

Dwayne noticed too.

He moved closer, shoulder pressing lightly against yours, grounding you between them without caging you in. “We’ve got you,” he said, softer now. “You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

David crouched in front of you, gaze searching your face like he needed to see it — really see it — to believe you were still here. His hand hovered near your knee, not touching until you nodded.

When he did, his grip was firm. Possessive. Protective.

“They don’t get to touch what’s ours,” he said quietly.

Dwayne didn’t argue. He just nodded once, eyes still on you, thumb tracing a slow, reassuring circle against your wrist. “And they won’t get another chance.”

Outside, the night stretched on — unaware of how close it had come to losing you and between David’s barely-contained fury and Dwayne’s steady presence, you knew one thing for certain:

Whoever had hurt you had no idea what they’d just started.