Questions I can see in Noah’s eyes right now.

“Please.” My voice breaks. “Please help him.”

“He needs a hospital.” Noah slices through the straps on the opposite side of Grey’s armor and lifts it away.

All the breath leaves me in a rush. Whatever attacked him found the vulnerable stretch of skin under his arm and dug four deep grooves into his ribs. A pink stretch of muscle glistens beneath all the blood.

“Clean towels,” says Noah. “Now.”

Jake goes. He comes back with three. Noah rolls one tightly and presses it against the injury. With his free hand, he puts two fingers against Grey’s neck, looking for a pulse. “You need to call.” His voice is grim. “He’s breathing, but his pulse is weak. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Jake is looking down at me. His eyes are wide. He’s heard everything about Scary Grey and my stories from Emberfall, but hearing it and seeing it are two different things.

I don’t want to think about what could happen if Grey woke in an ambulance. He once said he’s somewhat familiar with this world, but there’s a difference between snatching girls off the street and waking up in Shock Trauma. “He’s not—he’s not from here. He won’t understand. The cops will be all over him.” I look at Noah. “Can’t you stitch him closed?”

“With what?” says Noah. “A needle and thread?”

When I nod, he looks exasperated. “Even if I could, he’ll need antibiotics. A tetanus shot.” His expression darkens. “Call, Jake.”

Jake hesitates. “I think she’s telling the truth.”

“About what? That this is some prince from a fantasy world? That’s real blood. Harper, hold this towel. Press hard.”

I move into position and press it tightly against Grey’s side. These cuts are deep, and my eyes flinch away. “He’s not the prince,” I say. “He’s the prince’s guard commander.”

“Oh, that’s better.” Noah uses the knife to cut the sleeve away from the wound on Grey’s arm. “This one needs stitches, too.”

“Can’t you—”

“No!” He sounds like he can’t believe this is up for discussion. “I don’t even have any supplies here!”

“I can go,” says Jake quickly. “I can run to your place. Or—or the drugstore …?”

“The drugstore? Are you kidding me?” Noah swears and uses the knife to tear a strip from another towel. “I can’t do this. He could die. He could—”

Grey inhales sharply, then makes a low sound in his throat. His eyes flutter open. A hand lifts.

“It’s okay,” I say to him. I take his hand and press it between both of my own. His skin is tacky with blood. He’s so pale. “It’s okay,” I whisper. I have no idea whether my words are true. “You’ll be okay.”

His eyes drift closed before I even finish the sentence.

I keep a tight grip on his hand and look across at Noah. “Please.”

“I could lose my job. I could—”

“Please,” says Jake.

Noah inhales like he’s going to refuse, then lets it out in a rush. He moves the towels to the side to check the bleeding, then presses them back into place. “Jake. Get my keys out of my back pocket. My stuff is by the desk in the bedroom—”

“I know. I know where it is.” Jake gets the keys and heads for the door.

Before he can pull it closed, Noah says, “Hey. Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“You need to run.”

Grey is stable.

At least, according to Noah. He and Jake moved him to the bedroom half an hour ago because Noah needed more light to stitch up Grey’s side.

Grey’s surviving pieces of armor are piled in a corner of the kitchen. After Jake left, Noah made like he was going to slice it all off, but I stopped him and started unbuckling. I have no idea what’s going on in Emberfall or what Grey will have access to, but I don’t want to destroy what he has left.

Noah sent Jake to the drugstore for more supplies, and I’m standing at the sink trying to wash the blood off the blades Grey still carried: his own set of throwing knives and the dagger strapped to his thigh.

Then I go still. If Grey is here, does that mean Rhen is dead?

I set the knives on a towel and go to the bedroom.

Grey is still unconscious, his skin nearly as pale as the sheets and towels beneath him, his hair dark and unruly against the pillow. I’ve never seen him look so vulnerable. Older scars decorate his torso, but nothing as severe as the wounds across his chest. He looks smaller, too, shirtless and injured, without all the armor and weapons. Scary Grey is nowhere to be seen.

The room smells like iodine and blood. Noah has completed the sutures along Grey’s rib cage, four long arcs of neatly placed stitches. He’s moved on to the slice across his arm.

When Noah speaks, his voice is low and quiet. “An inch lower, and this would have severed a tendon. I wouldn’t have been able to fix that.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“His blood pressure is still low. He needs a liter of blood. IV fluids.” His voice is still soft, but laced with irritation.

I don’t know whether I owe him an apology or a thank-you. Probably both. Probably more.

“Is he going to survive?” I whisper.

“For the next few hours, yes. The bigger worry over the next few days will be infection. Right now, I’d feel better if he’d wake up and tell me his name.”

Me too.

“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for doing this.”

Noah doesn’t say anything for the longest time, and I don’t know him well enough to read his silence. I’m about to turn away when he says, “I didn’t want to believe you. Jake’s the one who loves all the superhero movies. My world is pretty concrete.”

“Okay.” I’m not sure where this is going and my voice shows it.

“He’s got other scars.” Noah glances over his shoulder to look at me. “None were treated in a hospital. I can tell.” A pause. “Neither was that scar on your face.”

I don’t say anything.

“His clothing doesn’t have any tags, either,” says Noah. “And those weapons … they’re not stainless steel, from what I can see.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I don’t know.” He turns back to Grey’s arm, and his voice is thoughtful. “I guess I’m saying I don’t disbelieve you.”

I can take that.

The apartment door slams. “I’m back,” Jake calls. “I stopped for coffee, too.”

“I only have one more stitch, and then I’m going to clean him up,” says Noah. “I’ll be right there.”

I leave the bedroom to help Jake.

He’s brought four coffees from the convenience store on the corner. Like he expected Grey to be all better when he got back.

My brother is such a dumb jock in some ways, but in others, he’s effortlessly charming. I wrap my arms around him in a hug.

“What’s this for?” he says.

“You brought four coffees.”

“Yeah, well.” He sounds abashed. But then he looks down at me and lowers his voice. “There’s a car outside. I think it might be Lawrence’s guys.”

A chill takes grip of my chest. “Why?”

A sudden crash and a shout emit from the bedroom, then the light in the doorway flickers.

“Wait!” calls Noah, his voice strangled. “Jake—help—”

Jake and I nearly collide with each other trying to get into the bedroom. Grey is standing, and he’s got a death grip on Noah’s wrist, pinning his forearm to his chest. His other hand is wrapped around Noah’s throat, forcing his head high.

Grey’s still ghastly pale and panting from the effort. “You will—you will tell me where I am.”

“Let him go!” Jake starts forward in a fury.

“Wait!” I grab hold of his arm and hang on while Jake drags me forward. Grey glances from Noah to me and then to Jake barreling down on him. He’s unsteady and trembling, but he doesn’t look ready to let go at all.

This is going nowhere good in a hurry. “He’s scared. Grey—it’s okay—”

“Easy,” Noah grits out. “I was just—trying to help—”

“Take your hands off him,” Jake growls. He pulls free of my grip and advances like he’s going to throw a punch.

Grey tightens his grip. Noah makes a small sound.

“Commander!” I yell. “Release him.”

He lets go. Noah stumbles back. Grey turns to face Jake. His eyes go between us as he tries to figure out who’s a threat and who’s an ally.

“I’m fine,” Noah says quickly. He’s rubbing the wrist Grey grabbed. “He woke up disoriented. He didn’t hurt me.”

Jake glances at him. Some of the tension drains out of his body. “Okay.” He takes a step back. “Okay.”

I move toward Grey, who’s still watching the two men warily. His breathing is too shallow, and a bloom of sweat has broken out on his forehead. Adrenaline is probably all that’s keeping him upright.