Page 109 of Wraith

I do.

Even with all the doubts, I do.

Officer Alvarado explained some of it over the phone yesterday. How it works, what to expect. Federal prosecutors, she said. Depositions and grand juries, and eventually trials that could take months or years. Protective custody, maybe. Relocation assistance. Witness protection if the threat level warrants it.

A whole life built around testifying. Around doing the right thing.

But also, potentially, a life without Dylan.

I set the rest of the bars aside to cool and cover them with foil. They’re for him. For the hospital visit I planned for this afternoon, after the meeting with Officer Alvarado. After I start the process that might separate us for months or longer.

He didn’t give me up. Through all that torture, all that pain, he held on. Bought me time to escape. That has to mean something. That has to be worth acknowledging, even if I’m still furious at him for tying me to that bed, for making that deal with Moose, for thinking he knew better than me about my life.

My phone buzzes on the counter. Evan’s text appears: Outside when you’re ready.

I grab the container of bars, my keys, my jacket. Check my reflection in the bathroom mirror — hair pulled back, minimal makeup, jeans and a sweater that make me look responsible and credible. Someone a federal prosecutor would believe. Someone who can handle the weight of testimony.

New June.

The truck smells like coffee and leather when I climb in. Evan’s wearing his Devils cut, his expression serious but softer than I’ve seen it in days. He pulls away from the curb before speaking.

“Proud of you, Junebug.”

The nickname makes my throat feel tight. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure about this? Really sure?” He glances at me, and I see the worry there. The big brother concern that’s never quite gone away, even now that I’m trying to build something independent.

“I’m sure.” And I am. “It’s the right thing to do.”

He nods, his hands steady on the wheel. “The Devils will protect you. Whatever happens, wherever they send you, we’ve got resources. Rabid’s already making calls.”

“I know.” I watch Ironwood Falls pass outside the window — the coffee shop where I bought beans yesterday, the library where I got a card, all these small threads I’ve been weaving into a life. “But I might not need protection forever. Once the Sons are locked up, once the trials are over, I can come back. Resume everything.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

We drive in silence for a few blocks. Then I say, “After the meeting, can you take me to the hospital? I made these bars for Dylan. And I want to talk to him. Really talk, before all this starts and I don’t know when I’ll see him again.”

Evan’s jaw tightens. “You still love him.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “I think so. I’m still angry. Still hurt. But he didn’t give me up, Evan. He could have. He could have told them where I was and bought himself an easier death. But he held on. For me.”

“That doesn’t erase what he did.”

“No.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t. But it matters. And I need to tell him that. Need to say goodbye properly if this witness thing is going to take me away for a while.”

He pulls into the police station parking lot, his face unreadable. “Okay. We’ll go after. But June, please be careful. Loving someone who hurt you doesn’t mean you have to let them keep hurting you.”

“I know. That’s why I’m doing this. I’m taking control of my own choices instead of letting him — or anyone — make them for me.”

The station building is brick and glass, modest but official. My stomach knots as I unbuckle my seatbelt. This is it. The moment where I stop being someone things happen to and become someone who makes things happen.

Then I see him.

On the front steps, braced on crutches, his face still carrying the aftermath of Midnight’s work — bandages on his forehead, one eye still slightly swollen, his jaw showing yellow-green bruises that used to be purple and black. Dylan. Wraith. The man who betrayed me and the man who protected me, both of them existing in the same broken body.

And still the man I love.

I’m out of the truck before I process moving, my feet carrying me across the parking lot. “What are you doing here?”