Before they stepped off the private jet and back into the eyes of the world, Arm stopped Mild at the cabin door. His pride was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate sincerity.
"One week, Mild," Arm said, his voice low. "Just one week. Stay by my side while we finish this. No guards, no locks, no 'rehab' speeches. Just seven days to see if we can exist without the fear. If at the end of that week you still want to leave, I will personally drive you wherever you want to go and never follow you again. Just give me seven days of a fair chance."
Mild looked at Arm's face—the face of a man who had fought his own blood to keep him safe. He felt a heavy weight of exhaustion. "One week," Mild agreed softly. "But then, I make my choice. And you have to respect it."
The return to the city was a whirlwind of legal maneuvers. Mike met them at the courthouse, looking weary but triumphant. With his police credentials and the verified recording, the case against Silas was ironclad.
