Page 11 of Hidden Echoes

Charlie’s right. Even though the hospital is under the TSOC’s protection, this area isn’t exactly safe. That realization sets me on edge.

My brother would lose it if he knew I was back in Texas…

But I’ll deal with him later.

I make my way to the diner, which is only three minutes from the hospital, and the moment I step inside, irony slaps me in the face.

There’s Mia, and there’s blood.

The blood isn’t hers, of course.

“Mia, what the hell are you doing?” I groan, running my hand over my face, trying to stave off the headache that’s already coming on. This girl... she’s nothing but trouble.

Charlie was right—Mia’s not the type to tolerate being restrained. But, strangely, I’m relieved she seems to like me. Judging by the way the man’s arm is twisted beneath her, bent at an impossible angle, the sense of relief crashes over me like a tidal wave.

That could’ve been me.

I shrug off my hoodie and drape it over her shoulders, shielding her from the prying eyes of the few patrons still in the diner—most of them are probably long gone, running for the door the second the fight broke out.

“Mia,” I say, my voice low but trying to stay steady, “can you come with me?”

She looks up at me, her eyes suspicious, narrowed. “Go with you?”

I nod. “Yes. I can help you. You’re probably hungry, right? That’s why you came here. You don’t need to hurt anyone.”

Her face doesn’t soften. “I didn’t hurt him because of the food.” Her tone is matter-of-fact. “He touched me without my permission. It wasn’t part of the protocol.”

Protocol?

Her words hit me like a slap, sparking something volatile deep inside. I hate violence—but I hate men who think they can put their hands on women without any consequences even more.

I glance at the man writhing on the floor, clutching his mangled arm as it bends in ways it shouldn’t. The sick, unnatural angle is almost beautiful in its brutality.

A small, grim satisfaction bubbles up inside me. She broke his arm. Good.

The man gurgles something through clenched teeth, his voice strained with pain. “You’ll pay for this, you worthless bitch.”

I look around, my eyes landing on a nearby wooden stick, probably left behind by a kid who’d been playing here earlier. I grab it, the weight of it in my hand familiar in an unsettling way.

I step toward him, the stick dangling loosely in my grip as I kneel down next to him. My eyes lock with his, and I smile. It’s not a pleasant smile.

“My friend here says you touched her without her permission. Is that true?” I ask, letting the words hang in the air like a threat.

The man stammers, trying to gather his thoughts. “Well, she grabbed my food—”

“And you think that gives you the right to lay your hands on her?” I ask, my voice growing colder.

“No, man, I didn’t know she was your girl. If I’d known—”

“Oh, so if she wasn’t my girl, you would’ve thought it was okay to touch her? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I—no, I didn’t mean—”

Before he can finish, I swing the stick across his skull. The crack of it landing on his head is sickening, and the man’s scream cuts through the air as his hands fly up to clutch at his skull, blood already pooling in his fingers.

“You listen to me, you piece of shit,” I growl, leaning down so my face is just inches from his. “If you so much as breathe near her again, I’ll make sure you regret it. And next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

I toss the stick aside, the sound of it clattering to the floor almost peaceful in contrast to the chaos. I grab Mia by the wrist, tugging her away from the scene, pulling her through the diner’s door without another word.

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