I clock it immediately.
Metal.
She's reaching for a gun.
The one I bought her.
The one she said she hated.
The one she swore she never wanted to use.
What is going on… Why does she feel like she needs that in our room?
Before I can ask, someone slams into the wall outside, forcing another flinch from my wife, and shouts down the hall.
"CHURCH IN FIVE!"
She yanks her hand back and stands fast, relief flashing across her face when she sees it's me.
Real relief.
Then tension replaces it. "Four," she says.
"I know." I let out on a heavy breath.
"They won't let Dani see him." Her voice is sad, full of pain for her friend.
"I know." I repeat.
Her fingers flex at her sides like she doesn't know what to do with her hands.
"They told her he was sleeping with someone… an informant or something. She has been a mess ever since."
My jaw tightens. "It's bullshit."
Her eyes search mine, a blue so bright they can come across as warm, but right now they are cool and so is her voice when she asks, "Is it?"
There's something loaded in that question.
"Yes," I say without hesitation. "Roman doesn't cheat. Not on Dani."
She exhales like she didn't realize she was holding her breath. Like using Four's name grounds her in a world she can actually understand.
Then she starts pacing, and I really take her in.
Bare feet on the rough floor, worn jeans hugging her hips, her tank top slightly wrinkled.
She looks exhausted, frazzled. Not solid and sharp like she usually is.
When we first started dating, she never paced. Everything with her was easy then.
Coffee runs with her laughing at my dumb jokes. Late nights in her apartment before she agreed to wear my cut. Day-long rides on my bike, wind whipping around us, and her arms wrapped around me tight.
Before I brought her here.
Before this place became part of us.
This tension? It's just stress.