Page 26 of Scavenger's Oath
Not with Myles like that. Not when the storm in him sounded like he was going to swallow the girl whole. It’d only make it worse for her.
Now, guilt hangs heavy in the morning air.
Light filters through the cracks in the blinds of my bedroom, once an old office upstairs for detectives.
I head straight downstairs to the holding room but linger at the door. Unsure what I’ll find, I take a deep inhale and open the door as quietly as I can.
There she is. Huddled in the corner of the cot, wrapped tight around herself, trembling.
When her eyes find mine, she flinches as if I’ll hurt her too.
She's awake. How long she's been awake? I don't know. Maybe all night.
Morning light filters through the windows, dust motes swirling from my movement. But I’m paralysed in the middle of the room, lost for words.
Yesterday she was wary. Skittish. Today... she lookswrecked. Haunted. Eyes red-rimmed and wide.
There are bruises forming on her wrists, and one higher on her arm in the shape of fingerprints. Another one, faint but there, beneath her collarbone. Her shirt—or what's left of it—is shredded. She clings to it like a lifeline, attempting to cover her body.
She's exposed. It feels wrong to look at her.
“Ivy,” I whisper. Her name catches in my throat like a prayer I don’t deserve to say. It feels too gentle for this place, too fragile for what’s been done to her.
I wish I could offer her more than this. God, I wish she knew that she’s more than just someone I’m trying to protect. That she’s starting to feel like theonlything worth protecting.
She doesn’t even react. As if she’s somewhere else entirely—retreated somewhere deeper than I can reach.
I don't have the words to comfort her from this. She barely trusts me to move in her presence anyway.
It guts me to see her like this. I’ve seen it plenty of times before. But this is different. She’s not broken from what happened before we found her... she’s broken from what happenedin here.
Insideourwalls.
Realising I'm staring too much, I avert my gaze and look at the things I brought her. Seeing my fists clenched tight around the bundle, I force them to loosen, focus on calming my breath.
The urge to punch the wall, scream, throw something, is like lava coursing through my veins, ready to erupt.
I’m furious with Myles for laying hands on her like this. So much I could rip his head from his shoulders.
But I can't lose my temper. Not now. Not in front of her. I swore I’d never be that man again.
This isn’tthen. She’s not one of them. And I don’t wanther to see that side of me.
Ever.
I take a tentative step forward and crouch by the bars.
“I brought you something,” I say, voice tight.
I lay the bundle gently at the edge of the bars. Clean clothes I dug up from the locker room. A hoodie, too big but soft and warm. Drawstring pants. Socks. An old book from the bookcase in the lounge room. Something to distract her from her situation.
Fuck. I wish it was enough. But how do you even begin to rebuild someone when they’re still mourning the ruins.
She doesn't reach for them. Doesn't even blink as she watches me as if I might explode as well.
Kneeling slowly at the bars, I try to make myself smaller. Less threatening.
“It's ok,” I say gently. “You don't have to put them on right now. Just... when you're ready.”
