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His jaw hardens, but he doesn’t answer immediately. The silence stretches between us as we stare at the tiny black petals on the floor.

Maybe they are nothing.

Maybe they were left behind after a ceremony, tucked away in the house long before any of this started. Maybe I put them there myself and don't remember. There are too many gaps in my memories to know for certain.

“Ares could have just heard something.” Hunter straightens, his gaze sweeping across the room. “A mouse or whatever.”

I twist, looking around the floor, and now I’m worried about something else. Mice?

Whatever it was, Ares seems to have lost interest, giving the area one last sniff before casually walking to the door, ready to go outside.

“Way to freak us all out,” Hunter says to him, then looks back at me. “You want to come with me, or are you okay staying here?”

I’m not letting paranoia or the gaps in my memory win. Even though my heart still pounds behind my ribs, I move back to the bed. “I’ll be okay.”

At some point, after they come back in, I finally fall back asleep. It’s morning when I wake up again, he’s already gone. Ares, too. I lie there for a moment in the quiet, staring at the ceiling, before forcing myself to move. For the first time in days, I take my time getting dressed–really dressed. Clean underwear, soft black leggings, one of Damon’s oversized hoodies that still smells faintly like him. I pull my hair into a simple ponytail and slip on my shoes, ready for another long day at the hospital.

I’ve just stepped into the sitting room when Hunter walks in carrying a plain cardboard box under one arm. Ares trots at his feet, nose twitching eagerly as he sniffs at the box.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, eyes skimming over me.

“Good,” I say, stretching my arms behind my back. The days of sitting in that horrible chair have taken a toll. “You?”

He shrugs, then says, “Before we head out for the day, I want to show you something.” I look at the box in his hands. “I told you last night that no one is going to hurt you again, and I want you to understand exactly what I mean.”

He holds the box out to me. My fingers close around it before my brain catches up. It’s heavier than I expected. I lift the lid.

Inside is a hand.

A severed human hand.

I startle hard, nearly dropping the box. The hand tumbles slightly against the cardboard, pale and stiff. Ares immediately pushes forward, curious, but Hunter snaps a sharp command in German, “Aus!”, and the dog backs off instantly, sitting with a whine.

“What is that?” My voice cracks, looking up at his face, then back at the hand, then back at him. “Who is that?”

Hunter’s eyes stay locked on mine, calm and unflinching. “That’s Billy’s hand. I cut them off in the tunnel.”

The words hit me like ice water. I stare down at the thing in the box–the skin is mottled purple and gray, several days old, clearly pulled from a freezer. The edges where it was severed are dark and ragged, the fingers slightly curled like it was still trying to grab something when it happened. Dried blood crusts the stump at the wrist. It looks wrong. Unreal. Like something from a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

My chest tightens with a sick mixture of horror and something warmer. Something twisted. I’m horrified because what kind of man can do this–cut off another man’s hand and keep it like a trophy? But there’s warmth too, blooming low and dark in my belly. He did it for me.

“He hurt you, Nettie.” Hunter’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking there. “I know you don’t remember all of it, and I hope to fuck you never do. But he hurt you, and that was unforgivable.”

I can’t stop staring at the pale, lifeless hand. The way the skin has started to sink in, the faint smell of cold freezer air still clinging to it. My pulse races.

“You said ‘them,’” I whisper. “Where’s the other one?”

Hunter doesn’t smile, but there’s a dark satisfaction in his eyes. “Somewhere safe. This one is to prove to you how serious I am. The other one is insurance. If anyone else even thinks about touching a hair on your head, they’ll know exactly what I’ll do to them.”

A shiver runs down my spine–part fear, part something dangerously close to arousal. I should be terrified of him right now. This is monstrous. This is the kind of violence that should send me running. He’s done nothing but tell me for months how dangerous he can be. But instead of panic and fear, heat pools low in my stomach. Hunter–quiet, controlled, always-holding-back Hunter–did this for me. He carved pieces off the man who tried to take me and kept them close.

I’m a little scared of him in this moment. Scared of how far he’s willing to go. Scared of the cold certainty in his voice.

But I’m also impressed.

Deeply, shamefully impressed.

And attracted. God help me, I’m attracted to this side of him–the side that doesn’t hesitate, that doesn’t flinch, that will destroy anyone who tries to break what’s his. What’s ours. I close the lid on the box, my hands only shaking a little. When I look back up at him, my voice comes out quieter than I mean it to.