25. Raven

Chapter 25

Raven

T he cold air nipped at my skin as we stepped away from the flashing lights and the relentless buzz of the crime scene. I wrapped my arms around myself, a feeble attempt to ward off the chill that had settled deep in my bones—a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.

"Jerome," I began, voice barely above a whisper, betraying the tremors I felt inside. "This... it doesn't feel real. I can't believe someone would—"

"Hey," Jerome cut in gently, his hand finding its way to my shoulder, offering a squeeze of reassurance. "I know this is hard to process. But you're safe now. That's what matters."

I looked up at him, his features softened by concern. His presence was a solid, unyielding comfort in the swirling uncertainty that threatened to engulf me. He's been my rock through all of this. What would I do without him?

"Safe? For how long, Jerome?" My gaze drifted back to the chaos behind us. "Whoever did this is still out there. What if they come back? What if next time—"

"They won't get another chance," Jerome interjected, his voice firm. "I promise you, Raven."

I met his eyes, searching for the conviction behind his words. Finding it, I let out a shaky breath, allowing the fear to ebb away, if only slightly. Yet, beneath the surface, anxiety gnawed at me, threatening to break free.

"Let's sit down for a moment," Jerome suggested, guiding me to a nearby bench. We sat side by side, the silence comforting, as the distant sirens wailed like a lament for our shattered peace.

"Jerome," I murmured after a while, turning to face him. "Thank you. For being here. For... everything." My eyes shone with unshed tears, a testament to the turmoil within.

"Raven," he said softly, turning to meet my gaze squarely. "There's no place I'd rather be. No one I'd rather protect." It was more than a duty; it was a choice—one he made willingly.

Our gazes locked, and in that moment, something shifted between us. A connection forged in fire and trust, pulling taut the invisible thread that bound our lives together.

"Back there," I started, breaking the connection as I glanced away, "when the shots rang out... I was so scared. Not just for myself, but for Knox, for you. I've never felt so helpless."

"Helplessness isn't a feeling we're accustomed to, but you handled it with courage. Remember that."

"Courage?" I scoffed lightly, then sighed. "Maybe. Or maybe it was just shock."

"Shock can freeze you in place," he pointed out, "but you moved, you acted. That's courage in my book."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" I asked, peering into his guarded eyes. "After everything you've seen, everything you've done?"

"Sometimes, that's all we have—telling ourselves what we need to hear to get through the night." Jerome's voice was a low rumble, a sound that resonated with shared understanding.

"Then let me be the one to say it tonight," I offered, voice steadier now. "We'll get through this, Jerome. Together."

"Together," he echoed, the word not just an acknowledgment but a vow.

We sat in a companionable silence, each lost in our own thoughts, yet undeniably connected. The horrors of the night lingered, but so did a burgeoning sense of hope, a belief that, united, we could face whatever lay ahead.

"Did Knox say anything to you?" My voice pierced the silence that had settled between us, a thread of urgency weaving through my words. I clasped my hands together tightly, as if wringing out the fear from my fingers.

Jerome's gaze was steady on the rearview mirror, watching the night swallow the last of the ambulance lights. "Only that the attacker was masked," he replied, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. "No chance of an ID."

"That means it could be anyone. Someone who knows my schedule, my routines."

"Or someone with resources."

"Resources... like money? Someone who can afford to hire a professional hit?"

"Money, or connections. Maybe both."

"I'll lay down my life before I let someone hurt you."

The intensity of his words wrapped around me like a shield. In his promise, I found an anchor amidst the storm of my fears.

"Thank you," I whispered, the weight of the ordeal pressing down upon my chest. "But I don't want you to put your life on the line for me."

"Comes with the job," Jerome replied.

"More than the job," I said softly, reading between the lines of his stoic facade. "You care, Jerome. It's not just a contract to you."

"Care is an understatement," he admitted, the words escaping his lips before he could rein them back.