Page 297 of Ruin Me Gently

But I couldn’t. I had to find them.

I kicked off my shoes and trailed down the hall, following the low murmur of Finn’s voice. His words were too soft to make out, but the sound pulled me closer, like a thread I couldn’t help but tug on.

Six monitors glowed from Finn’s desk, their screens flickering with endless lines of code, security feeds, and data that looked complicated enough to launch a spaceship. Wires sprawled across the surface like tangled roots, snaking into servers and hardware that I didn’t even want to guess the purpose of.

Finn was already in his chair, fingers flying over the keyboard like he was trying to out-type the apocalypse.

“Dude,” he snapped, eyes locked on the screen. “Speak to me.”

Silas didn’t answer. He stood just behind Finn, pacing like a caged animal, hands dragging through his hair, shoulders coiled so tight I half-expected him to implode.

Finn twisted toward him. “Speak, Graves.”

“Wipe everything,” Silas barked, sharp enough to slice the air in half. “Traffic cams, ATMs, parking lot feeds between my penthouse, the hospital, the East Side Marina and here. I want every single second of footage from the last three hours removed.”

“I can’t nuke every camera without setting off alarms,” he muttered. “But I can corrupt the timestamps. Throw them out of sync so nothing lines up properly.”

“Do it,” Silas said, voice tight, clipped.

I stayed quiet, leaning back against the wall, and let my gaze drifted downward.

His hands.

Knuckles torn and swollen, split open in jagged lines, blood crusted deep into the cuts, still wet in places where it had smeared across his skin.

My stomach twisted, sharp and sour as my pulse throbbed in my temples, too loud and fast, like my heart was trying to hammer its way out through my skull.

Finn’s voice cut through the suffocating silence.

“I’ve finished the first phase,” he said. “It’ll take another twenty minutes to overwrite everything properly.”

Silas barely grunted in response, just paced some more.

“Come here,” Finn muttered, getting up from his chair and nudging my arm.

I blinked at him, mind still lagging about five steps behind.

“Lilith,” he said again, quieter this time. “Come on.”

He led me up a set of stairs and down a hall. We stopped at what I assumed was his bedroom, and he went straight for the wardrobe, rifling through his clothes with way too much force. Hangers rattled, shirts flew, the whole situation laced with frustrated energy, like he was trying to fight the mess with sheer violence.

Eventually, he grabbed a pair of sweats and tossed them onto the bed without looking at me. Then he turned back, holding up a pink T-shirt, bright enough to burn my retinas.

“This might be a little tight,” he said, grimacing. “Sorry.”

I blinked at it. At him. At the ridiculous Barbie-pink shirt in his hand.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “Did you rob a twelve-year-old?”

Finn snorted, short and sharp.

“Here,” he added, dragging a fluffy pink bathrobe from the wardrobe and dumping it on top of the pile. “Just… whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“What happened?” he asked after a beat of silence.

Finn’s kindness felt like something too gentle in a moment that still had my brain spinning on high alert.

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