“I can when you won’t be reasonable.”
Her eyes flick up to mine – anger cutting through the fear, sharp and defiant even now. “You don’t even know me.”
“Maybe not,” I say. “But I know this.” I nod toward her – feverish, shaking, barely holding herself upright. “You’re not staying here alone.”
Silence stretches between us.
Her breath evens out in shallow pulls. Then she exhales, long and defeated, and her forehead drops against my shoulder like she’s finally run out of ways to argue.
“…okay.”
It’s barely audible.
I move before she can change her mind.
“Keys,” I say.
“In my bag.”
I grab them, sling the bag over my shoulder, and head for the door with her still held close.
Outside, the air is cool. She shivers violently. I tuck her in tighter without thinking, instinctively adjusting the blanket like my body’s decided this is its responsibility now.
She makes it three steps toward the door before she stumbles again, breath hitching, knees buckling.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, scooping her up.
She yelps softly, startled, instinctively grabbing my shoulder as I lift her fully into my arms. She’s warm and limp and far too easy to carry.
“Sol—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “You’re not walking. I don’t care if you hate me for this,” I add.
A weak huff of breath brushes my collarbone. “Already halfway there.”
That’s…something.
I don’t hop the fence.
I walk around it.
Slow. Careful. Deliberate. Like if I rush this, something worse might happen. Her head lolls briefly before she tucks it into my shoulder, breath hot against my neck.
By the time we reach my front door, she’s shivering hard enough to rattle.
“You need a bath,” I say, already unlocking it. “Or a shower.”
Her head lifts weakly.
“That’s rude.”
“Didn’t mean it to be,” I reply, striding inside. “But it’s still true, princess.”
I don’t ask where she wants to go.
I don’t hesitate.
I carry her straight through the house, up the stairs, and into my bedroom, nudging the en suite door open with my foot. Steam will help. Warmth will help. Being clean will help.