The safe-house was quiet, the kind of silence that only came after chaos. Dust motes swirled lazily in the thin slice of moonlight breaking through the grimy window. Keegan sat hunched over on the edge of the ratty couch, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair. The adrenaline had bled out of him, leaving exhaustion in its place.

He looked like hell. Blood smeared along his temple, his dark hair clinging to sweat. His jacket was torn, one sleeve hanging by threads. But he was alive. They both were.

He glanced up, eyes shadowed but sharp. Relief mixed with something deeper when he looked at you. A rawness that hadn’t been there before.

“Damn,” he said, voice rough and hoarse. “You saved my ass back there. Again.” His mouth curved, but it wasn’t really a smile. More like disbelief wrapped in gratitude. “I don’t know how you do it.”

He leaned back, shoulders finally loosening from their rigid tension. His eyes held yours, steady and unguarded. “You’re an angel. You truly are.”

The words tumbled out like a confession. Maybe they were.

He looked away quickly, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was already regretting the admission. But the truth of it hung in the air between you, undeniable and fierce.