༻ 5 ༺

"You really seem strapped for cash. What's  going on?"

Zyra didn’t answer right away. Her eyes dropped to her lap, where her fingers twisted together—tight, restless. "I'm  just....in some serious depth and I really need the money."

Thorne raised a sweaty brow. “What kind of debt?”

She hesitated, the silence stretching long enough to feel loaded.

“The kind that doesn’t go away with time,” she said finally. “The kind that shows up at your door with a smile and a bat.”

Thorne’s expression shifted slightly and he groaned, his curiosity was edged with caution.

“Loan sharks?”

Zyra gave a dry laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Worse. Let’s just say they don’t leave paper trails… but they never forget your face.”

He watched her, saying nothing.

She didn’t look up. “So yeah… I’m not here for thrills. I’m here to survive.”

Finally, after a long moment, she looked up.

Thorne wasn’t watching her.

He was slumped against the driver’s seat, head tilted back, face ghost-pale. A sheen of sweat clung to his skin, soaking the collar of his shirt. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow bursts—too fast, too uneven.

“Thorne?” Her voice cracked. He didn’t respond.Her stomach dropped. “Thorne!” she said again, sharper this time, reaching out to shake his arm. His body was warm—feverish. And limp.

Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage on his side, darker and heavier now. She hadn't realized how much he was still bleeding.

“Shit…” she whispered, heart hammering. Panic clawed at her throat, but she forced it down. “Okay. Okay. You’re not dying on me now, dammit.”

She slid across the seat, grabbing his face gently but firmly. “Thorne, stay with me.”“Thorne!” Zyra shook him harder this time. “Wake up!”

His head lolled slightly, a groan slipping from his lips. His eyes cracked open—barely.

“Talk to me,” she said, pressing her hand against his burning forehead. “Tell me what to do.”

He blinked slowly, trying to focus. “My place…”

His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

“Address?” she demanded.

He mumbled it — numbers and street names slurring together — but just clear enough for her to catch. She repeated it under her breath to memorize it.

“Bodyguards,” he rasped. “They’ll… know me. Let you in. Doctor. Private… doctor. On call.” He coughed, wincing. “Tell them I’m bleeding bad…”

And then he slumped again, unconscious.

Zyra stared ahead, heart racing. She could leave. Walk away. No one would know.

But instead, Zyra hurried around to the driver’s side, boots crunching on gravel. She yanked open the door and stared at Thorne’s slumped body.

“Okay… alright,” she muttered, trying to think. “Just move—come on—”

She grabbed under his arm, trying to drag him over to the passenger seat, but he was too heavy and too out of it. His body sagged like dead weight.

“Dammit,” she hissed, frustrated.

Instead, she reached down and fumbled for the seat lever. The mechanism creaked and groaned, stubborn as hell—but after a few tries, it finally gave way. The seat reclined just enough to ease his body back, giving her a bit of space.

She climbed in carefully, squeezing into the gap between his legs, practically sitting on the edge of the seat and steering wheel. It was awkward, cramped, and wildly unsafe—but she didn’t have time to care.

She started the car, knuckles tight on the wheel. “Hold on, Thorne. You didn’t bleed all over my night for nothing.”

Then she floored it, tires spitting gravel behind them as they shot down the road toward the address he’d given her.

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