Page 28 of Make Them Cry
“She’ll be safe here,” Arrow says finally. “No one can trace this network. No one even knows this place exists.”
I nod, still scanning the screens like I’ll find something we missed. “I’ll drop more supplies later. Keep her stocked.”
Knight gives me a look. “You meanyou’ll watch her.”
I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
And then, I send the coordinates to River.
Night comes fast,and with it, silence. I set the box of groceries by the door, knock once, then walk back to my car before she can open it. My heart’s beating like I just sprinted three miles.
She doesn’t know it’s me. She can’t.
If she did—if she realized the same man who teases her about semicolons and steals her coffee is also the one hiding behind a mask and saving her in the dark—she’d look at me differently. Maybe hate me for the lies. Maybe something worse.
I drive a block away, park, and pull up the Riverside feed.
She’s inside now, standing by the door with her phone still in her hand. The grocery box sits open at her feet. Her shoulders slump, a small exhale shaking through her before she pushes her hair back and looks around the room.
God, she looks exhausted.
She touches the blue blanket with cupcakes on it. Smiles, just barely. Then she collapses onto the bed, curling on her side. The camera catches the curve of her jaw, the faint red mark on her cheek from where she must’ve fallen asleep in her car earlier.
I shouldn’t be watching.
I know I shouldn’t.
But I can’t look away.
Arrow calls twenty minutes later. “You get her in?”
“She’s safe.”
“Good.” He pauses, voice softening. “You okay, man? You sound… off.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
I smirk faintly. “Maybe.”
Knight’s voice joins the line, muffled in the background. “He’s not fine. He’s in love.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, though they both laugh because it’s not exactly a denial.
“Hey,” Arrow says quietly, serious again. “Just remember what we talked about. You can care. You can protect. But if you fall toodeep, it gets messy. You can’t protect her from behind that maskandhold her hand.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I glance back at the screen as River shifts in her sleep, the blanket slipping from her shoulder. I swallow hard. “Yeah. I do.”
Hours later, I’m still there. The city’s gone quiet outside, but inside the Riverside feed, River’s restlessness paints a different story. She keeps getting up, checking the window, pacing. Her fingers twist the drawstring of her hoodie, over and over.
Then she opens her phone, screen glow washing over her face. I can’t see what she’s typing, but I can guess. She’s talking to Mask. Talking to me.
