It was long past midnight.

  Dane sat at his desk in the station, the only light in the room coming from the monitor on low glow and the streetmps outside. Elian had told him earlier he'd be working te and that he wouldn't be home. That wasn't unusual. Elian often had te hours. The hurt and ill didn't abide by any schedule or time clock. Dane respected that.

  Mostly.

  He didn't like it. Especially not tonight. An uneasy feeling had settled in his gut, a sense that something wasn't quite right. He couldn't shake the nagging worry that gnawed at him.

  He could see the clinic from his office window. The lights were still on, but the shades were drawn. Not unusual in itself, but it meant Elian didn't want anyone looking in. Anyone, including him. And that rankled. Did he not want the sheriff looking in—or did he not want Dane? A flicker of hurt passed through Dane at the thought. He pushed it away, burying it deep.

  Then—movement. Just a sliver of shadow, maybe nothing at all. But it caught his attention. Held it.

  He picked up the radio and clicked it on. "Gav?"

  Three short clicks came back, their shorthand code for "I'm here."

  "When's the st time you saw Elian?" Dane asked in what he hoped was an even tone and not a lovesick one.

  A long pause. Then Gavin's voice, casual but tired. "Same time you did, boss. After the mess in the square."

  Dane gave two clicks in reply. Conversation over. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. The square had been in chaos earlier, a protest turned violent by outside agitators. He and Gavin had their hands full trying to restore order while Elian tended to the injured.

  With a sigh that hissed between his teeth, he got up and moved through the motions. Checking doors. Securing cells. Locking the windows. His movements were automatic, his mind elsewhere as worry continued to pgue him. Tonight the cells were empty, but only because their one frequent user was on rotation out in the mining pits. He wouldn't be back until tomorrow when his shift ended.

  Grabbing his coat, he stepped out into the quiet night. The air was crisp, the kind that hinted at rain sometime tomorrow, though the skies above still looked clear.

  Across the way, Lena's market stall was shuttered tight for the night, tarps pulled down and pinned with small rocks—her usual method, makeshift but effective. The Nezien brothers were still out front of The Rook, pying their weird-ass bottlecap game under the glow of the tavern's hanging nterns. They barely looked up as he passed, though one of them gave a subtle two-finger salute. Dane returned it without pause.

  He could hear the tavern too, low ughter and muffled conversation slipping through the heavy doors. Nothing rowdy. Nothing wild. Just the sound of a town letting off steam. He didn't hear any shouting or chairs scraping hard across floors—no warning signs. All was quiet on that front. Hal Rook had things handled, as always. Dane wouldn't get in his way even if it wasn't.

  Still, his eyes swept the alley beside the bakery, the rooftops beyond the clinic, the shadows near the old well where the light didn't quite reach. Habit. Training. Love for the pce, even if it didn't always love him back.

  Even now, even with worry pulling him toward Elian, Dane watched his town. Counted its heartbeats. Checked its breathing.

  Then, with one st gnce across the street, he crossed toward the clinic, boots striking slow and steady against the hard-packed dirt.

  He knocked gently on the front door, holding his breath.

  A muffled, familiar voice came from inside. "Come in."

  Relief bloomed sharp and fast in his chest. Dane exhaled slowly, pushing open the door.

  Elian was seated at his desk just inside, paperwork scattered around him. The lighting was low—just the desk mp and the faint hum of the clinic's core systems. The door to the surgical room was closed. Tightly. Elian looked so tired, yet he had the look of a successful job done, versus someone whose patient had died.

  Dane settled his bulk into a too-small chair across from him, his weapon digging into his hip as he tried to get comfortable. He didn't pn to leave anytime soon. The tension was palpable, a weight pressing down on them both.

  Elian didn't look up. "Have someone in recovery."

  Dane narrowed his eyes and just couldn't help himself. "Someone you can name?" His voice carried an edge, probing.

  Lucky for him, Elian was well aware, so his tone wasn't angry when he answered. "You know I can't do that." A hint of weariness crept in, an unspoken plea for understanding.

  Dane's jaw tightened. He didn't press—it wouldn't change anything. But the curiosity gnawed at him, suspicion stirring.

  "The closed shades, you being tight-lipped on it, Doc... I'm gonna have to assume it was Virelli."

  Elian didn't respond. That was enough confirmation. The silence stretched between them, heavy and tense, words hanging unspoken in the air.

  They sat facing each other, the space between them taut with unvoiced questions and guarded secrets. Elian's body nguage was open, rexed on the surface, but Dane had known him long enough to spot the signs—the way his shoulders were a little too still, his eyes a little too guarded. Elian was holding something back.

  Dane leaned back, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. Protective. Defensive. Trying not to be jealous of whatever secret Elian now kept from him, the one person who should know.

  "She doesn't react to anything," Dane said quietly, voicing his frustrations. "No flinch, no tell. For someone like me—that's damn near suspicious. Like she's hiding something. And I can't read her."

  Elian leaned back in his chair and held a cup of water like it was something stronger. He didn't smile, but there was warmth in the way he looked at Dane—steady and familiar, a shared history between them. When he spoke, his words carried a gentle rebuke.

  "You're looking at her face."

  Dane blinked, confused. "Where else would I look?"

  A puzzled frown creased Dane's brow. "Then where the hell do I look?"

  Elian's response was simple, matter-of-fact. "Her hands."

  Dane frowned deeper, mulling over this new insight into the enigma that was Mia Virelli. Her hands held the truth, it seemed—the one pce her careful control slipped. He made a mental note, determination rising within him. If that was the key to unlocking her secrets, then he would watch. And he would wait, patient as a predator, until those telling hands revealed what she tried so hard to conceal.

  Elian's voice softened. Dane didn't know it was because Elian found his sulk adorable.

  "Her hands tell you everything her mouth won't." Elian reached out, briefly squeezing Dane's forearm in a reassuring gesture. His touch was light, but it lingered just long enough to make something stir in the air between them—something old and familiar.

  Dane didn't move. Just looked at Elian, his features softening around the edges. His voice dropped.

  "You worry too hard," Elian murmured.

  "Yeah," Dane muttered. "You make it hard not to."

  Dane rubbed at his jaw, looking like a man who'd just been handed a map he hadn't known he needed. His brow furrowed as he processed Elian's words, mulling over this new insight into the enigma that was Mia Virelli.

  He paused, then scowled. "I know I shouldn't be shocked that you figured out her tell after only being in her company a handful of times."

  Elian gave him a small, infuriating smirk. "Hey, I never said how many times I've been in her company. For all you know, it's once."

  Dane's eyes flicked to the tightly shut surgical room door. He nodded toward it—sharp, silent, loaded with meaning.

  Elian just shook his head at his man, amusement ghosting across his tired features. "You really don't like it when I'm the one holding the mystery, do you?"

  Dane didn't answer. He didn't need to.

  Another long silence stretched between them, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. Dane and Elian had long ago learned to savor the quiet moments together, a respite from the noise and demands of the world outside the clinic walls.

  Elian watched him, calm and composed on the surface, but there was something behind his eyes. A heaviness. A weight borne from too many secrets he could never voice. He knew if Dane saw what he had seen—etched into bone and scar, written in the nguage of trauma—everything would change. Dane would never look at her the same way again. And Elian couldn't tell him. Wouldn't. Because his oaths as a healer mattered to him more than anything.

  "Stop watching her face, Dane," Elian said softly, his voice carrying a gentle but firm insistence. "Watch everything else. That's where she lives."

  Dane gave a slow nod, the tension easing from his shoulders as he accepted Elian's counsel. The silence between them settled once more—not heavy this time, but companionable. Familiar.

  "You eat?" Dane asked quietly, his gruff voice a low rumble that Elian found inexplicably soothing.

  Elian tilted his head toward an empty container from the Tavern with a small smile pying at the corners of his mouth. "A couple of hours ago."

  Dane made a face, his nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. "Damn. I was hoping for some of that mystery meat shepherd's pie." There was a hint of teasing in his tone, softening the blunt words.

  Elian gave him a knowing look, his eyes crinkling with quiet amusement, then reached behind him and pulled out a still-warm container from the food keeper he kept tucked away. He handed it over with a spoon, no words needed between them.

  Dane made a soft, pleased sound and dug in without preamble. He didn't say thank you, not out loud—but the look he gave Elian said it all. A rare, quiet smile curved his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It was a real one. The kind he only ever gave to Elian when they were alone like this, away from prying eyes.

  As Elian returned to his paperwork, Dane's thumb brushed against Elian's when he took the food, just a fraction longer than it needed to. Neither of them mentioned it. But they both felt it.

  For such a big man, Dane ate with surprising delicacy. Another thing Elian loved about him—he brought a kind of peace with him. He didn't fidget or shift restlessly. Didn't try to fill the silence with idle chatter. He just...existed, and that simple presence was enough to soothe Elian's constantly whirring mind.

  When Dane finished, he picked up both his empty container and Elian's, stacking them with care as if handling something fragile and precious. The small, unconscious gesture made Elian's heart squeeze in his chest with a bittersweet ache.

  "You going upstairs?" Dane asked.

  Elian shook his head, his dark curls swaying with the motion. "Patient still resting. I can't leave them alone." His voice was hushed, mindful of disturbing the quiet that had settled over the clinic.

  Dane almost asked. Elian saw it—the words perched on the edge of his tongue, that familiar crease forming between his brows as he wrestled with whatever question lingered. But after a moment's hesitation, Dane swallowed them back and stood, the wooden chair creaking softly beneath his weight.

  "Alright. I'll see you in the morning."

  Elian offered a small nod, his gentle gaze following Dane's broad frame. "Sleep well."

  Dane's footsteps echoed like muffled drumbeats as he climbed the stairs and left through the front door, the hinges whining in protest.

  Elian waited a moment, listening to the sounds of the empty clinic before rising and quietly checking the recovery room once more. But when he gently and quietly opened the door, he saw the bed was empty, the thin sheets rumpled and askew. She was gone.

  A single piece of paper rested on the pillow where she had in. He strode over, his boots whispering against the scuffed floor, and grabbed it, his eyes scanning the familiar blocky handwriting—careful, precise, neat in a way that made his heart ache with a hollow pang.

  Thank you. I didn't want to be a burden. I'll come back to repay you.

  He wasn't sure how long he stared at the words. His fingers trembled once before he folded the paper, tucking it into the pocket of his worn trousers.

  He looked around the room—everything was neat, undisturbed save for the bed. The gown he'd given her was folded precisely and id on the mattress like she'd never been there at all.

  She'd left so quietly, no sound, barely a trace.

  He moved to the front of the clinic, raising the shades to stare out into the moonlit street, but there was nothing to see—no flicker of movement, no retreating shadow. She'd left like a ghost—silent, unseen. The bed hadn't even been warm. She'd gone long before Dane ever knocked.

  He watched the pale moonlight spilling over the rooftops of the quiet town, arms crossed over his chest, thoughts tangled in a restless knot. The ache settled low and heavy in his chest, an all too familiar weight.

  Only then did he let himself feel it—the weight of watching another wounded soul vanish into the dark.