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Headlights slashed through the night, stirring dust and moths as Caitlyn’s sedan lurched to a stop, tires chewing gravel. Vi groaned with the jolt, her hand pressed tight against her side. Caitlyn’s blazer, steamed that same morning for an early presentation, was now a wad of wool and silk and blood in Vi’s fist.
She was sickly pale in the blue glow of the dashboard controls, red hair slicked to her temples, slumped in the passenger seat, smaller than Caitlyn had ever known her to be. The thought stirred in her mind that she could be making a massive, dangerous mistake.
“Are you sure, Vi?” Caitlyn squinted at the GPS suctioned to the windshield, then to the alleged safe haven they’d just arrived at. “It looks abandoned.”
Vi gave an affirmative hum, then hissed with pain.
Caitlyn’s eyes adjusted to the building: new panes of glass with the labels still stuck on, carts and dollies clustered by the ramp, slats of yellow wood covering the most egregiously rotted garage door. “And you’re sure he’ll have a first aid kit?”
“Yes!” Vi arched her hips up, straining against the seatbelt, fumbling deftly with its clasp with her free hand, fingers weak and trembling.
“Here.” Caitlyn turned into her seat to reach over Vi, one hand unclasping the seatbelt, the other closing over Vi’s on the blazer.
Vi slid her hand out from under Caitlyn’s, leaving Caitlyn with a handful of that hot, abundant blood. Caitlyn scanned Vi’s battered face, her heavy-lidded eyes, the droplet of either sweat or tears tracking down the side of her aquiline nose. What if a first aid kit wasn’t enough? “How do you feel?”
Vi shook her arm away from the seatbelt with an uncharacteristic, loose-limbed floppiness. Her hand fell back onto Caitlyn’s. “Like I got fucking stabbed.”
“Right.” Caitlyn pulled herself away from Vi, the moment lingering heavily as she gripped the keys, the weight of the situation setting in, as palpable on Caitlyn’s tongue as the metallic-sharp scent of blood. She shut off the ignition and ripped them out with a finality.
The air was humid and cool by the river, the city lights distant but an interstate roaring on the other side of a thicket of trees. The lights of her car timed out, leaving her suspended in the murky brown of a starless sky, stained by far-off neon. Caitlyn had no idea where she was.
Vi was already careening out of the car by the time Caitlyn scurried around to the passenger side, bent forward with her free hand braced against the door, boots toeing the ground. “I got it,” she grunted, leaning too deep into the car door. It swung open further under her grip, knocking her off balance and almost sending her onto the gravel.
“You don’t,” Caitlyn took Vi by the wrist and slung it over her shoulders, her knees buckling under the total surrender of weight.
Vi’s head lolled. “Woah.”
“Dizzy?” Caitlyn asked.
Vi gave her a nod.
Caitlyn didn’t bother shutting the passenger side door, dragging Vi forward with twinging steps, her breaths quick and hot whenever they drew close, until they reached a suspicious and rusty door. It was so loose on its hinges it clanged with every unanswered knock, the grit of dust under the heel of her hand. Vi squeezed Caitlyn’s shoulder, pausing her frantic knocks.
“It’s usually… unlocked…” She huffed.
Caitlyn tried the handle. The door swung open to a vast brick interior, draped in tarps and scaffolding, paint cans freshly sealed, their brushes laid out to dry in front of a wall marked with squares and lines — the underpainting of a mural. Thrumming music cut through the stillness, muffled but close. Vi nodded in its direction, towards a loft in the far corner of the warehouse, cinder block walls sectioning it off, its curtained windows glowing with warm light. Wherever they were, someone was home.
“The office.” Vi leaned deeper into Caitlyn to avoid a big, scuffed piece of machinery, and the vice around Caitlyn’s heart loosened a little. It was a construction site; a place ready for blood and accidents and emergencies, sure to have a well-stocked first aid kit and maybe even someone who knows how to use it.
Caitlyn pat Vi’s side, muttering, “c’mon.” She pushed forward, Vi’s feet heavy but adept, carrying her up the familiar staircase and to the office door until the music was consumingly loud. Caitlyn opened the door, knowing better than to knock this time. Every surface was plastered with a poster, a drawing, a map. Empty takeout boxes, tools, and games scattered the available tables and floor. The packed metal shelves were sure to bear a first aid kit somewhere, and the mismatched furniture would have to serve as a triage center. At the far end from the couch and mini fridge, Ekko sat at his workbench, back to the door and nodding along to the beat as he hunched over a project.
“Hey,” he said without looking up.
Vi hemmed a cough. “You’ve gotta start locking that door, little man.”
Ekko let his fine-tipped tool clatter to the workbench nonchalantly, and he pushed a pair of goggles onto his head, taking time to adjust the pair of elastic straps against his locs. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He kicked to spin himself around on the swivel stool. “I’ve been padlocking it when I’m out, but the hardware store has —”
In the center of the noisy, dimly lit room, Caitlyn shifted her stance, covering Vi’s trembling hand with her own and laying deeper pressure into the blood-soaked compress. Vi swallowed down a grunt and said, “dangerous people out there.”
Ekko sprung to his feet in an instant. “What the fuck? Are you okay?” He raced to put a hand on her shoulder, steading her slumped posture, dark eyes wide and searching.
Vi flinched under his touch. Her jaw tightening as she forced a smirk. “Just some asshole who decided to fight dirty.” Her voice cracked, betraying her, but she turned her face away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
From Vi’s pallid face, he looked at Caitlyn accusatorially. “What happened to her?”
“She’s been stabbed. Clear a surface. That table.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Ekko’s gaze turned down to the blazer in Vi’s hands, the blood starkly red on the silky mint green of the lining, a matching set with Caitlyn’s mud—streaked slacks. “But what are you doing here? That — that needs a hospital.”
Vi forced a lopsided grin, her hand tightening on the blazer to hide the tremble. “Just a scratch, little man. I’ll be okay.”
“No hospitals,” Caitlyn said briskly. She pulled Vi away from Ekko, half-carrying her to the chaotic, junk covered table. It was messy, but not entirely filthy. It would have to do.
“No?” Ekko chased after them. “Vi, seriously.”
Vi shook her head. “Ending up in the E.R. after a fight? Yeah,” she laughed. “I’d make my parole officer’s week.”
Ekko stepped in front of Vi, barring her from the table. He pointed at Caitlyn. “But that’s what the lawyer’s for, right?”
Caitlyn shook her head gravely. “A stab wound is an automatic police report. Easy grounds for a violation. It’s a risk —”
“But —”
“It’s a risk we don’t need to take. My father is a doctor. Now clear the table.”
Ekko held Caitlyn’s defiant stare, arm out, blocking the table. “Your father ?”
Vi waved him away. “I’m not dying tonight,” Vi said, amused, though she swayed in Caitlyn’s grasp. “I’d put up with a lot worse than this to avoid a parole hearing. Now help me.”
The demand came out less like an order and more like a plea. Ekko finally stepped back, hand lingering on Vi’s shoulder as if she would topple over without his support. He swept the remnants of takeout off the table, clattering to the concrete, and gathered mugs, books, and loose paper into his arms, dumping it onto his workbench.
“Good,” Caitlyn said, jaw set as she surveyed her operating theater. “Get the first aid kit.”
Ekko moved to one of the industrial shelves, and Caitlyn helped Vi up onto the table's ledge. With a steady hand, her two fingers traced the other girl’s jaw, pressing into the nook of tender skin until she found a pulse, quick, strong. “Pulse is good. Lie down.”
Vi gave no resistance as Caitlyn eased her onto the slatted wood, a hand cupping the back of her head as it laid, messy hair fanning. Caitlyn hauled a book-stuffed backpack off the floor and propped it beneath Vi’s tensed legs, her dirty boots dangling.
An orange case slammed down on the table. Caitlyn flinched. “Turn off the music,” she said and pulled a folding chair close. The bright, wide edges of her world narrowed to Vi, to that blood-soaked blazer and the oozing wound beneath it. “And turn on the overheads.”
Her fingers found purchase on the hem of Vi’s ruined shirt, the girl’s breath fluttering as she slid it up, each huff a brush of warm skin against Caitlyn’s knuckles. The bright lights came on and Caitlyn leaned closer, inspecting the uncovered wound, red and angry, the only thing that existed in her world.
“What’s the damage, doc?” Vi masked her discomfort in a grit-teeth smile.
Caitlyn blinked up at her. “I can’t tell. But I don’t think it’s deep.” She wiped her hands off on her slacks and opened the first aid kid, a cornucopia of gauze and tape and single-sized packets of pills. She turned to Ekko, who paced at Vi’s feet.
“Hand me what I need, okay?”
His glazed look refocused. He nodded.
“Good.” She snapped on gloves, hands still sticky with blood beneath them, and raised them up like a surgeon scrubbed in, just like her father did as he led countless first aid workshops, an attentive preteen assistant at his side. Ekko hovered behind her, shifting on his feet.
“Gauze.”
Vi whined as the first pad of gauze hit her side, fingers curling into a fist, core tensing, pulse racing. Caitlyn pressed harder, crimson soaking straight through the pad, chasing out the white.
“Another.”
Caitlyn swapped it for a fresh piece, and Vi hissed silently at the pressure. Her hand found the edge of the table and held it with a white-knuckled grip. Her panting breaths fought against Caitlyn’s palm, the jagged rise and fall of her stomach the only indication of how much it truly hurt. But on the fresh piece of gauze, red was slower to bloom.
The quiet minutes dragged on. Wet gauze peeled up, fresh gauze pressed down. Ekko brought a plastic bag for trash and said, “that’s a lot of blood,” a nauseous waver in his voice.
“It’s slowing down.” Caitlyn lifted her hand, inspecting the red-dotted gauze. Vi whined as Caitlyn pressed back down, skin warm and firm through her gloves, fingers against the unfairly taut pane of her stomach. The sad little sound twisted her gut. “That’s it,” she murmured, barely registering the words before they slipped from her mouth.
Vi’s eyes met Caitlyn’s before fluttering shut and, for a moment, the scrunch of her eyebrows made it look like she was about to cry. But the next tense of Vi’s stomach was from a pained laugh. “Whatever you say, doc.”
Caitlyn rolled her neck and lifted the gauze again, barely flecked with dark blood. Her vision zoomed back in, blocking out Vi and her little gasps and frustrating abs. All that existed was Caitlyn and the work in front of her.
“Saline syringe.”
Ekko handed her the tool. It slipped into her hand, thumb on the plunger, unshaking as she lined it up against the rise and fall of Vi’s stomach, the tip gently prodding open the slit of bleeding skin. She squeezed.
Vi jerked, rocking her hips up as she yelped. “God damn!” Her voice cracked. “Cait! Warn a girl first!”
Caitlyn scurried back, hands shooting up and into Vi’s line of sight, syringe still primed and ready between her index and middle fingers. “Sorry!”
Vi’s lower lip trembled. Her eyes darted between Caitlyn and the ominously large syringe.
“It’s just water. Salty water.” Caitlyn’s saline dribbled over her gloved fingers. “To wash out the debris,” she said, voice softening.
Vi’s nod was shaky, lower lip trembling. “Okay.”
Caitlyn sat back down, making sure Vi could see the syringe, still raised and far from her body. “This is the worst part. But it’s better than an infection.”
“Okay,” Vi said again, jaw clenching.
“Tell me when.”
Vi’s head tilted back, eyes shut, voice tight as she said, “yeah. Let it rip.”
This time, when Caitlyn squeezed, Vi cried out but held still, bruised knuckles clenching the table’s edge. Ekko’s hands cautiously rested on her shaking knees as he leaned forward, watching Caitlyn’s work with a fearful, wide-open face.
Saline flushed through the wound, dust and clothing fibers rinsing out in the red-tinted water and pooling in the towel stuffed against Vi’s side, each rush of water as sharp and brutal as another blade, each adjustment of the syringe’s tip a jolt straight back to that darkened alley,to the utter helplessness to save her sister. To save herself. Crumpling down to the ground. Trying to move, legs leaden. Trapped. Always trapped.
“Just push through it.”
Caitlyn’s words were a murmur through heavy lips, neither for herself or for Vi, hanging still in the quiet air. Vi’s whimpering cries grew weaker, her palms too sweaty to grip the table’s edge, sliding loose and then trying to find purchase again.
“All done. All done.” Caitlyn let the syringe fall into the trash bag and squeezed Vi’s forearm. “I’ll dry this up and do some antiseptic. It’ll sting. But we’re close.” She dabbed at Vi’s slick side, ribs still rattling with gasps. Caitlyn peered close at the red gash, so small and narrow for the amount of drama it had caused, for the amount of blood soaking Vi’s clothes and the gauze and the discarded blazer on the floor. As far as stab wounds went, it could have been a lot worse. Caitlyn allowed herself the slightest of sighs, letting some of the tension drop from her shoulders. “You’re doing great. It’ll be an easy close-up.”
As she prepped the iodine wipes, she nudged at Vi’s hip. “Talk to me, tough guy.”
The only response was the hum of a fan on the workbench and the tk tk tk of one of Vi’s rings against the table.
Caitlyn looked up, glove grazing over Vi’s clammy skin, and froze. The other girl’s eyes were wide, unseeing, lips parted in an expression foreign to her stubborn features. Caitlyn’s heart lurched, her urgency stalling. “Vi?” She dropped her hands to the table, ripped antiseptic packet loose in her palm.
“Huh?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Vi said unconvincingly, her face hardening as much as she could force it to, lips in a tight line, blinking fast.
Caitlyn sucked her teeth. “Can you rate your pain?” She asked softly.
“It’s not — not that,” Vi said roughly. “I’m fine.”
Furrowing her eyebrows, Caitlyn glanced at Ekko, who carded through the first aid kit’s pain medication catalogue and only spared quick looks at Vi’s fragile state. Vi’s chest rose and fell in jagged, silent gasps, choking on her panic.
“I need to know if something’s wrong,” Caitlyn said. “You have to trust me.”
She caught Ekko’s wide-eyed glance, peering out from behind Caitlyn, and snapped, “I’m fine, okay? Just — thinking too much.” Her voice broke, the words scraping out as she glared at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay put.
Caitlyn’s fingers curled around the iodine wipe again. Thinking wouldn’t kill Vi, but an infection might. “I’m going to —”
But Vi cut her off. “Thinking, you know, my meeting —” Her voice broke, each word scraping against the shudder in her chest. “My P.O. meeting’s on Wednesday, and he’ll see these bruised up knuckles, and that alone could be enough for a violation, and —” her eyes roamed the ceiling’s cracked plaster, tears finally spilling over the faint freckles dusting her cheeks. “— I’ve seen them get people for less, y’know?” She pursed her lips, jaw tight, trying to cage the sob clawing up her throat. Her next words were tiny, faint, a whisper from some deeply buried part of herself. “I can’t go back. I can’t. I can’t.”
Caityn’s breath caught. “Oh.” Sat forward in her seat, the folding chair creaking. “It’s okay. We’ll figure something out.”
Vi sniffled, blearily looking at Caitlyn, but her gaze flickered back to the ceiling, gray and glassy.
“I’ll try to get the date pushed,” Caitlyn said, steady, her chest pressed against the table as she leaned towards Vi. “Your P.O. hates me, he’d never suspect a thing if I hassled him over schedules.” She searched for a sign that her words were reeling Vi in, that she heard her at all. “And we can hide it with makeup. I’ll help you, okay? I’ll help you.”
Vi’s breaths stayed shallow. She fought to nod back, to shake off the panic that still gripped her and convince herself that Caitlyn’s words held weight, but ultimately lost. Her face wrenched up and a cry stuttered from her lips, raw, choked sobs spilling to the surface.
Caitlyn’s hand paused, brows knitting, a faint crease between her eyes. Her fingers hovered for a moment before dropping the iodine wipe and peeling off her glove, slow, deliberate. She scooched up on the table, hip bumping against Vi’s as she dropped the second glove, not caring much where it landed. Hesitant, gently, her hands cupped Vi’s face, swiping a tear, fingers threaded through surprisingly soft hair. She guided those wild grey eyes onto her. “Hey,” she whispered, voice barely stirring the air between them.
And Vi looked at her.
Caitlyn swallowed hard, throat dry, searching for words. “Breathe, okay?” She thumbed over Vi’s cheek. “You’re safe. Just breathe.”
Vi’s sobs cascaded, unstoppable even as she nodded up at Caitlyn and attempted to draw an even breath through her nose.
Caitlyn stroked her temple, smoothing the sweaty fuzz of her undercut. “I know, I know,” she cooed. “You’re here. You’re free. Look at me. You’re okay.”
Vi softened at the even tempo of Caitlyn’s voice. Her pursed lips parted, a shaky exhale slipping out, though her face stayed wrenched. She wanted to argue — Caitlyn could see it in the twitch of her mouth, the way her shoulders tensed — but she didn’t. Instead, she reached up, her calloused hand wrapping loosely around Caitlyn’s wrist, not to pull her away but to hold her there. “Okay,” She rasped, voice rough as gravel. She leaned into the touch, just a fraction, her jaw tightening as if to brace herself for a punch. “Okay.”
Caitlyn’s thumb stilled, her breath catching at the way Vi’s voice cracked. Her brows furrowed deeper, moving a hand to Vi’s shoulder, fingers curling gently into the worn cotton of her hoodie. And she felt it: the rise and fall of Vi’s chest, slowing.
Vi wrenched her eyes shut and drew a deep breath, grounding and final.
“That’s it,” Caitlyn murmured, barely audible, forehead nearly against Vi’s.
Vi sighed once, then again. She stayed that way, holding Caitlyn’s wrist, even breaths in sync, mingling in the inches between them.
When Vi opened her eyes, the panic was gone. She was the girl Caitlyn knew, with set features and face tattoos and an old scar over her brow, her peeled-back layers knit shut. She was just Vi.
Caitlyn shifted her gaze away and sat back up, aware of the crushing closeness between their faces.
Vi let go of Caitlyn’s wrist, hand falling to her side, fingers flexing like she didn’t know what to do with them. “Uh, yeah, sorry.” She sniffed up the last of her cries and shook her head out. “That last part, like, really fucking hurt.”
“It’s okay,” Cailtyn said, but the cooing tone felt wrong. Vi’s face slipped out of her hand, and she resigned herself to a touch on the thick grey sleeve of Vi’s sweatshirt. “Almost done, okay? Just some antiseptic and then I’ll patch you up.”
Vi winced. “Better get it over with.”
Caitlyn hummed a laugh, pat Vi’s arm, and moved on the table’s edge to face Ekko. He was exactly where she’d left him, deeply interested in the contents of the ample first aid kit. “I’ll need new gloves,” she said.
She made quick work of it, ready to stop looking at the angry red gash, hoping it wouldn’t return in her nightmares when she finally closed her eyes. Though Vi hissed with each dab of iodine, she held strong.
Ekko peered over Caitlyn’s shoulder as he handed her a butterfly bandage. “Are you sure this is enough?”
“As opposed to stitches?” Caitlyn asked, fingers delicately joining the split edges of Vi’s skin. “It’s not like we have any.”
Vi breathed a whine with all the energy she could muster as Caitlyn tugged the strip tight.
“And Vi’s ready to be done, right?”
“Told you I wouldn’t die, little man.” She cracked open an eye and gave Ekko a wincing smile.
Ekko, unconvinced, leaned in as Caitlyn laid another bandage, sealing the little wound shut.
“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Caitlyn explained. “As long as there’s no more bleeding and no sign of infection, she’s in the clear. Could you pass me the tape.”
Ekko waited for Vi’s nod of reassurance before returning to his station at the first aid kit and handing Caitlyn a roll of surgical tape. He stayed fidgeting, throwing away the bag of bloodied gauze, soaking clean towels in the washbasin by the makeshift kitchenette.
Caitlyn gave Vi’s side a final pat, smoothing the tape’s edges, fingers brushing over that taut stomach one more time. She nudged Vi, smiling, and whispered, “good job.”
Wearily, Vi lifted her head. “Done?”
“All done.” Caitlyn accepted one of the damp towels from Ekko. She stood and leaned over Vi, gently running the cloth over her swollen cheek, the blood crusted under her nose. Vi hummed happily at the warmth, making a little sound of protest when Caitlyn pulled away to clean her knuckles, fingers limp and curled and drained of all their fight.
Satisfied, Caitlyn dropped the washcloth onto the ruined blazer. Ekko extended another one. “For your hands,” he said.
Caitlyn looked down at the flaking blood on her own hands, buried beneath her nails and settled into the creases between her fingers. “Oh,” she said, palming the towel, then looking towards the sink. “Can you help her to the couch while I wash up?”
Ekko perked up at the instruction. He hurried to Vi’s side and, slowly, sat her up. “C’mon, Vi, let’s get you comfy,” he said, trying for a grin but not quite landing it. He slid an arm under Vi’s shoulder, careful not to jostle her side as he helped to her feet.
Vi groaned, her face twisting as she shifted. “I can walk,” she protested. But her legs wobbled as she slid off the table, falling into Ekko.
Caitlyn was there in an instant, arm looping around Vi’s waist. She glanced over to Ekko with an appreciative nod as they shouldered her weight together.
Vi’s hand found Caitlyn’s shoulder as they walked, gripping it hard — too hard, her fingers digging in like she was afraid to let go. Caitlyn didn’t flinch, even when Vi’s calloused hand slid down off the short sleeve of her blouse and onto bare skin as they shuffled to the couch.
“Easy,” Caitlyn murmured as they lowered Vi onto the cushions. Vi’s grip shifted around Caitlyn, sagging into her arms as they sat as one.
“Let me get her a pillow,” Ekko said as soon as Vi was situated, a steadying hand on her back until he was sure she was propped safely in Caitlyn’s grasp.
Caitlyn held Vi upright chin on her shoulder, limp arms around her waist. “Thanks,” Vi rasped, letting herself fall into the crook of Caitlyn’s neck, practically nodding off.
“Don’t mention it,” Caitlyn whispered, arms tightening over Vi’s back, face buried in the sweat-drenched collar of her hoodie. Caitlyn gently moved to touch the hem of her rucked-up shirt. “Let’s get you out of these gross things.”
Vi’s head lolled as she looked down at the ripped, ruined shirt and blood-splattered jacket she still wore. She breathed, something like a smile on her lips, but she had no steam left to speak. Her tired, tired eyes just found Caitlyn’s and gave an approving nod.
Caitlyn stripped her dirty clothes off, laid her down on Ekko’s pillow stack, and worked her belt out from around her hips just for good measure. By the time she was undressed to a sports bra and loose-fit pair of carpenter pants, she was already slack and breathing deep. Caitlyn brushed a strand of hair out of her face to rouse her. “I’ll be checking your temperature all night. If you need anything, if something feels wrong, I’ll be right here.”
“M’kay,” Vi mumbled, already under the blissful trance of sleep.
Caitlyn moved so Ekko could drape a blanket over Vi, meticulously light, as though she would fall apart under the weight of a quilt. Caitlyn sat cross-legged on the floor, the concrete hard against her tailbone through the jute rug. When Ekko stepped away from Vi, she asked, “Do you have another blanket?”
Ekko paused. He looked down at Caitlyn, leaning gainst the coffee table and pulling off her dirty kitten heels, with a brief expression of bewilderment. “Yeah.” He said.
Caitlyn breathed in the stillness, eyes fighting to stay open, fixed on the slow breathing form of Vi, safe and healing, no longer a thread’s width away from being gone from her forever. A rolled blanket hit her in the chest, falling into her lap before she could even react. She held it, then slowly turned her gaze to Ekko.
“Thanks,” she said roughly.
“Yeah, uh, it’s no penthouse suite,” Ekko, still standing, fished a thermometer out of the first aid kit and tossed it down on the table. “And thank you. Really.”
“What — oh,” Caitlyn looked over to Vi, face slack and softer than she’d ever seen.
Ekko shut off the overheads, leaving them in the orange glow of a string of bulbs and the desk lamp on his workbench.
“You were a very good assistant.” The words were sincere, but a cold, dry tone was all Caitlyn could manage.
Ekko circled around to the workbench, picked up the open can of an energy drink, and slumped into a chair beside the couch. He spared a glance to make sure Vi was truly asleep, then quietly asked, “the stuff she said about parole. Is that actually gonna be a problem?”
Caitlyn nodded slowly. “It could be, if we’re not smart about it.” Her heavy hands spread the blanket out over the rug. “But I’m good at my job.”
“And you always do shit like this for your clients?”
Caitlyn looked up from her hands-and-knees position, trying feebly to make the rough ground sleepable, and found herself laughing. “Yeah,” she huffed. She rolled onto one shoulder, pulling the corner of the blanket up and around her bare arms. “No. Never.”
“Well, y’know, thanks for that part, too. The lawyer-y stuff. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
The word again lingered unspoken at the end of Ekko’s statement. He’d lived without her once, tethered by the promise of an eventual homecoming. Caitlyn’s competence got her out of prison, and she’d gone and gotten poor Vi stabbed. It had been her fault, hadn’t it? Her silly hunch turned into a full-blown investigation; her choice to bring along Vi with her big, aching heart and fear for her sister; her inaction when Vi’s heart led her away from a covert stakeout and into a bloody confrontation.
Ekko knocked back the last of his energy drink and stood, unease still in his big eyes as he walked back to his work bench. “I’ve had too many of these to sleep tonight.” He tossed the can into a recycling bin and picked at the half-finished project he’d quickly tossed aside when they first arrived.
Caitlyn glanced over to him, then let herself recline onto the hard floor. “You’ll keep an eye on her for a few hours, then?”
“Take all the time you need.”
“I just need —” a yawn cut Caitlyn off, “ — need a few hours.” Her eyes drooped shut, finding instant relief from the pounding in her head. “Wake me if anything changes.”
“Always,” Ekko said. “Thanks again.”
His gratitude fell on empty ears, amusement circling in Caitlyn’s near-sleep brain. Thanks. As if she’d done this for him, or even for Vi, like some bizarre extension of the pro bono case that crossed her desk months earlier. It hadn’t felt like a favor, not when her hands shook as she pressed gauze to Vi’s side, not when her heart lurched at Vi’s broken sobs, not when she’d cupped her face and whispered her back from panic. No, it was something else entirely that left her here, drifting off on the biting jute rug like there was no place she’d rather sleep, like it was the most comfortable place in the world, like the most comfortable place in the world was wherever she could hear Vi’s even breathing beside her.