Page 90 of Glass Rose
I maneuver the boat alongside the dock, cutting the engine as Ethan catches the line I toss. His eyes keep darting to my face like he’s seeing a ghost. Maybe he is.
“Gavin fucking Hart.” He secures the boat. “You look like absolute shit.”
“Feel worse.” I gesture toward John’s slumped form. “Medical first, reunion later.”
The unfamiliar woman steps forward. A stethoscope loops around her neck, the metal dulled. “Trauma surgeon.” She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries and crouches beside John, checking his pupils. “How long since the injury?”
“Four hours, give or take,” I say.
“That’s Vivian,” Ethan says. “Found her holed up in an overrun hospital when we did a supply run.”
Walsh and Santino lift John from the boat. His blood leaves dark smears on the metal hull as they transfer him to a wheeled stretcher Liv steadies against the dock’s uneven boards. Vivian hovers close, calling out instructions as they follow the path to the compound.
I point to Sofia. “She needs dry clothes and warm food.”
“I’m fine.” Her body betrays her as she stumbles.
Ethan’s gaze shifts between us. “That the girlfriend?”
“This is Dr. Sofia Cruz.” I interlace my fingers with hers. “She’s a virologist from Green.”
“Green,” Ethan says. “The ones who kidnapped you?”
Sofia hides half her body behind me.
“She’s with me,” I say, voice dropping to that register he knows means don’t fuck with this. “She’s the reason I’m alive.”
Ethan studies Sofia for a beat longer, then offers his hand. “Welcome to our little apocalypse hideaway.”
She extends hers, too. “N-nice to meet you.”
“Let’s get you warm.” He gestures to the compound.
I jump onto the dock first, my boots squelching. “Come on.” I extend my hand to Sofia, who’s still huddled in her silver thermal blanket.
She reaches up, her fingers trembling and pale against mine. I don’t wait for her to try standing on her own—just hook my arms under her shoulders and knees and lift her out of the boat.
She weighs nothing. Too light. Too fragile.
Her head nestles in my neck. “Am I not too heavy?”
That’s what she’s worried about now? After being too close to drowning? Did it mess with her head?
“Too heavy?” I snort, adjusting the blanket more securely around her shoulders. “You barely weigh anything.”
Ethan falls in step beside us. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Trapped in a lab.”
“We searched for you.”
“I know you did.” Ethan wouldn’t have stopped until there were no leads left.
The main house hits me with a rush of sensations I’d forgotten how to miss. Vaulted ceilings designed for heat dispersion, massive windows positioned for optimal surveillance of the surrounding terrain, and that unmistakable scent—pine cleaner layered over gun oil and leather. My shoulders drop a fraction before I can stop them.
Home, or the closest thing to it in this fucked-up world.
“Ellie!” Ethan calls out. “They’re here!”
