Oblivious to Reece’s darkening mood, Kristopher’s lips curved into a faint, wistful smile. “Carrie saved me, you know. If not for her, I would still be swallowing those cursed pills.”

    He seemed to forget that he had been the one to first uncover the w in his medication, a detail buried in the fog of his fractured memory.

    Reece’s eyes narrowed. He dropped his half-smoked cigarette to the pavement, grinding it under his heel with deliberate force. His voice was ice, sharp and unyielding.

    “If you remember Carrie’s kindness, then do her the courtesy of keeping your distance. The Morrisons owe you for today, and we will honor that debt. Name your price, and we will see it done. But do not mistake gratitude for an invitation to worm your way back into her life. I cannot read your mind or your heart, but look at your situation. Someone tampered with—”

    “Your medication right under your nose. How can you im to protect her? If you feel even a sliver of guilt or gratitude, you will stay away.”

    Kristopher froze, the cigarette trembling between his fingers. He said nothing.

    Reece turned on his heel, striding toward the van parked across the lot. The cigarette’s ember grazed Kristopher’s skin, a sudden sting pulling his gaze downward. The butt was nearly spent, a faint glow fading into ash.

    The van’s doors slid open with a metallic groan, and medical personnel stepped out, their faces calm but focused. Reece quickened his pace, while Kristopher hesitated, Reece’s words echoing in his mind. He stopped short, his boots scuffing the ground, and watched from a distance.

    Reece reached the doctor first, his voice urgent but steady. “How is she?”

    The doctor adjusted his sses, his tone measured. “We ran preliminary tests. Ms. Campbell is stable, just shaken. A bit of rest at home should set her right.” Thoughbeled preliminary, the tests had been thorough—blood work, vitals, the works—rivaling any hospital’s scrutiny.

    Reece nodded, his shoulders easing slightly. “Good. I will take her home now.”

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    The doctor raised a hand, gesturing toward the van. “We are giving Ms. Campbell a nutrient drip. We will drive her home, and the drip should be finished by then.”

    Reece’s brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. “Can I ride with her? Keep herpany?”

    Kristopher’s eyes lingered on the ambnce as Reece, buoyed by the doctor’s nod, swaggered aboard with a self-assured stride.

    Only when the vehicle’s taillights faded into the distance did Kristopher wrench his gaze away, a reluctant twist in his chest.

    The police had intended to question Carrie first, but as the ambnce’s siren waned, an officer pivoted toward Kristopher, adjusting his cap. “Mr. Norris, would you minding to the station to provide your statement?”

    Kristopher’s head snapped toward the ambnce’s retreating glow, his voice catching. “Will Carrie need to give one too?”

    A flicker of hope stirred—he imagined seeing her again, perhaps gleaning more about her ordeal.

    The officer, misreading Kristopher’s curiosity, responded with measured sincerity. “Ms. Campbell is not well. Given her state as a victim, she is not fit to speak now. We will visit the Morrison residenceter to take her statement. For now, we need you toe with us.”

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