Dutch's hand stayed on the radio for a long moment.
Then he turned it off. The static died. Silence filled the kitchen.
Luna stared at him. Waiting. Her body tensed despite the pain. Ready to fight or run even though she could barely stand.
Dutch didn't look at her. Just walked to the window. Checked outside. Came back.
"You need to rest," he said. His voice flat. Neutral.
"They're looking for me."
"I heard."
"And you're just going to let me stay here?"
Dutch finally met her eyes. "You got somewhere better to be?"
Luna didn't answer. She didn't have anywhere. No safe houses. No allies. Nothing.
"That's what I thought." Dutch gestured to the table. "Lie down. Sleep. We'll figure out the rest later."
"How do I know you won't—"
"You don't." Dutch's voice was hard. "You don't know anything about me. I don't know anything about you. But right now, you're half-dead in my kitchen and those men are searching houses. So your choices are trust me or take your chances out there."
Luna looked at the door. Then at Dutch. Then at her own shaking hands.
She didn't have a choice.
She lay back down on the table. The bandages pulled. Pain shot through her ribs.
Dutch pulled the blanket over her. "Sleep. I'll wake you if anything happens."
Luna closed her eyes. But she didn't sleep. Not really. She listened. Every sound. Every creak. Every breath Dutch took.
Waiting for the moment he'd betray her.
But that moment didn't come.
Instead, she heard him moving around the kitchen. Quiet. Methodical. Doing something but she couldn't tell what.
Eventually, exhaustion won. Luna drifted off.
Dutch waited until Luna's breathing evened out. Deep. Steady. Finally asleep.
Then he moved.
He went to where he'd laid her things. Not much. Torn clothes. Boots. A small knife he'd found in her boot during treatment.
And a photograph.
It had been clutched in her hand when he found her. Crumpled. Stained with blood. But she'd held onto it through everything.
Dutch unfolded it carefully.
A little girl. Maybe three years old. Dark hair. Big brown eyes. Standing against a white wall. The kind of institutional photo they take for records.
Aria. Luna's daughter.
Dutch studied the image. The girl looked scared. Young. Innocent.
But it was the background that caught his attention.
Behind the girl. Barely visible. A wall with a number painted on it. And a logo. Small. Faded. But Dutch recognized it.
Canyon Road facility.
He'd seen that logo before. Years ago. When he was searching for his own daughter.
The same facility. The same goddamn place.
Dutch's hands tightened on the photo. His jaw clenched.
They were still operating. Still taking children. Still destroying families.
And Luna had tried to get her daughter out alone.
No wonder she was half-dead.
Dutch set the photo down. Walked to his closet. Pulled out a lockbox.
Inside were his old weapons. Military issue. Things he swore he'd never touch again after he came home.
He pulled out Luna's knife. Small. Professional grade. The kind assassins carried.
Dutch cleaned it. Sharpened it. His hands moving automatically. Muscle memory from decades ago.
While he worked, his mind drifted.
His daughter. Sarah. Eighteen years old. Beautiful. Smart. Full of life.
She'd gotten mixed up with dealers. Owed money. Disappeared one night.
Dutch had searched for months. Followed every lead. Checked every morgue. Every hospital. Every dark corner of three states.
He'd found traces. Rumors. Whispers about a facility that bought girls. Trained them. Sold them.
Canyon Road.
By the time Dutch tracked it down, Sarah was gone. Moved. Sold. Disappeared into a network he couldn't penetrate.
That was twelve years ago.
He never found her.
Never knew if she was alive or dead.
The guilt ate at him every single day.
Dutch finished sharpening the knife. Set it aside. Pulled out Luna's other belongings.
A small amount of cash. Bloodstained. A set of lockpicks. Professional quality.
And bruises. Scars. Marks that told a story Dutch could read.
This woman was a fighter. Trained. Deadly probably.
But also a mother. Desperate. Broken.
Just like he'd been.
Dutch put everything back carefully. Exactly where he found it.
Then he sat in the chair by the window. The photo of Aria in his hands.
He stared at that little girl's face.
Thought about Sarah.
About all the daughters who never came home.
His hands shook. Rage and grief mixing into something dark. Something he'd buried for years.
Maybe he couldn't save Sarah.
But maybe he could help Luna save Aria.
Maybe he could stop that facility from destroying one more family.
Dutch set the photo down. Looked at Luna sleeping on his table.
She had no idea who he was. What he'd lost. Why this mattered so much.
And he wasn't going to tell her.
Not yet.
Luna woke screaming.
Fire surrounded her. Aria's voice calling. Maya's hands reaching. Victor's knife cutting.
She bolted upright. Pain exploded through her ribs. She gasped.
A shadow loomed over her.
Luna's hand shot out. Defensive. Fighting.
"Easy! It's me!" Dutch's voice.
Luna's vision cleared. Dutch stood beside the table. One hand raised. The other holding something.
A syringe.
Luna's blood went cold.
She stared at the needle. Then at Dutch's face. The dim lighting made his features harsh. Unreadable.
"What is that?" Luna's voice came out raw. Shaking.
"Antibiotics," Dutch said. "Your fever's coming back. You need another dose."
Luna didn't move. Her eyes locked on the syringe.
Dutch could be telling the truth. Could be medicine.
Or it could be poison.
Could be sedative to knock her out while he called Victor's men.
Could be anything.
Luna's body tensed. Ready to fight. Her hand inched toward where her knife should be.
It wasn't there.
Dutch noticed. "Your knife's on the counter. Cleaned and sharpened. You want it, take it. But you need this shot first."
"How do I know it's medicine?"
"You don't." Dutch's voice was calm. Patient. "Same way I don't know if you're gonna try to kill me the second you're strong enough. We're both taking risks here."
Luna's eyes flicked between Dutch's face and the syringe.
Her fever was coming back. She could feel it. Heat spreading through her body. Infection trying to take hold again.
Without antibiotics, she'd get worse. Maybe die.
But if Dutch was lying. If this was something else.
She'd be helpless.
"Last dose kept you alive for two days," Dutch said. "This one will keep you alive two more. After that, you're strong enough to leave if you want. Your choice."
Luna stared at him.
Dutch stared back.
Neither moved.
The syringe caught the light. Clear liquid inside. Could be anything.
Luna thought about Aria. Trapped in that facility. Waiting. Hoping her mother would come back.
If Luna died here, Aria would wait forever.
She needed to survive. Needed to get strong. Needed to try again.
Even if it meant trusting a stranger.
Luna's hand lowered. She nodded.
Dutch stepped closer. "This is going in your arm. Going to sting."
He reached for her.
Luna's body went rigid. Every instinct screaming danger.
Dutch's hand touched her arm. Gentle. Professional.
The needle pressed against her skin.
Luna held her breath.
And Dutch pushed the plunger.
Cold spread through Luna's veins. Fast. Strong.
Her vision blurred immediately.
Too fast.
This wasn't antibiotics.
Luna tried to pull away. Her body wouldn't respond.
"What did you..." Her words slurred.
Dutch's face swam above her. "Sleep. You need sleep."
Luna tried to fight. Tried to stay conscious.
But the darkness pulled her under.
Fast.
Complete.
And she didn't know if she'd ever wake up again