Page 95 of Blind Justice

Her. Dylan Grant. Matt. Melanie. Blake Ellison.

Who among them had the power to terrify her into shutting down her own mind?

He clenched his fists. He couldn’t push her—Paul had warned him about that. But the moment they were safe at the Blackwell Institute, the moment he took down Fairchild, he would find out what Ruth had seen.

And God help the person responsible.

Outside, the wind cut through the trees, sending branches rattling against the windows. Inside, the fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows against the log walls. Ruth lay curled up beneath layers of blankets, her breathing steady but still too shallow for his liking.

Noah sat at the edge of the bed, thinking about the ham radio in the corner of the living room. Low-tech, old-fashioned. Safe. They couldn’t stay off the grid forever. Ruth’s family had to be losing their minds. And the bomber, whoever the hell they were, was watching them.

The longer they stayed hidden, the longer their enemy had to set the next trap.

Noah gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply through his nose, but before he could go to the radio, Paul’s voice broke the silence, “You’re thinking too loud.”

Noah glanced up to see his brother standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Paul didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside, pulling up a chair across from him. His eyes flicked to Ruth, softening for just a moment before they landed back on Noah. “We can’t stay off the grid much longer.”

Noah exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“She’s stable, but she’s not okay.” Paul’s voice was low, even. “She needs to go home.”

Ruth needed her family. Needed doctors with better equipment than the barebones medical supplies they had out here. Needed answers about what she could and couldn’t get back. But taking her home meant exposing her again.

“Blackwell Institute,” Noah murmured, almost to himself.

Paul nodded. “It’s the safest option. They will keep the media away. They have the security. The resources. She needs it, Noah.”

Noah ran a hand down his face, feeling the exhaustion creeping in. “If the bomber’s watching them, we could be leading them straight to her.”

“You think they don’t already know she’s alive?” Paul shot back, voice sharp but not unkind. “You think they’re just sitting back, waiting? No, Noah. They’re planning their next move. And we need to be ahead of it.”

“Are you sure you weren’t a cop in some past life?” Noah dragged in a breath, his fingers flexing against his thigh. He hated that Paul was right.

“I need to make the call,” Noah said finally. “I’ll be quick. Not many details. Just a heads-up.”

Paul’s gaze darkened. “And then?”

Noah swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Ruth’s sleeping form. “Then we take her home.”

* * *

When morning came,Noah was beside Ruth again, guiding her through her steps, coaxing small bites of food past her lips, reading softly to her when the silence became too much. He never spoke of the long nights he spent unraveling the web of corruption that had nearly destroyed her.

And Ruth never asked.

All she knew was that when she reached out, Noah was always there.

* * *

Four weeksafter they arrived at the home in the Black Hills, Noah sat on the edge of Ruth’s bed, gently holding her hand as he spoke. “I have everything I need,” he said carefully. “Fairchild is finished. I’m going to radio Brad tonight and make the arrangements to take you home.”

Ruth’s fingers tightened around his. “Home,” she whispered. The word felt both comforting and terrifying.

“You’ll be safe,” Noah reassured her. “We’ll be at the Blackwell Institute. Tristan and James will take over your care. Sophie will be there, and I’ll ask Alex to bring your mom. I’ll ask the rest of the family to hold off until the next day.”

Ruth swallowed, nodding. “I want to go home,” she admitted, though there was a slight tremor in her voice.

Noah squeezed her hand. “It will work out.”

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