Chapter 17 Theo
Zora is ten feet away, looking at blueprints spread over a piece of plywood. She has a smudge of white dust on her brown cheek, and her hair is tied back in a messy knot. We’ve been at this for months. The remodel moves at a steady pace, but she keeps us at a distance.
She won't set foot in the penthouse. When the bond gets too loud for her to handle, she finds a corner in this gutted building.
We settle the noise with fast sessions against the raw studs or on top of equipment crates.
It is clinical. She keeps her boots on and leaves as soon as the edge is off.
It is a transaction that keeps her sane and keeps us on a leash.
There is no talk or comfort. Just the physical release she needs to stay focused on the work.
I drop the spool and wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
Even through the dust and the smell of raw wood, her pheromones hit me.
Honey and vanilla. It doesn't matter how much drywall mud is in the air.
That scent finds its way to me, a constant signal in the noise.
It makes my skin feel tight. I point. "The server rack goes in that corner. I want it bolted to the slab."
Zora doesn't look up from the plans. She traces a line on the paper with a dirt-stained finger.
"Put it wherever it works best. Just make sure the staff can get to the reset buttons without a degree from MIT."
I walk over and stand on the other side of the plywood. The honey and vanilla scent gets stronger. It is a distraction I don't need while I’m trying to map out a security hub.
"I'll make it simple. One green button for on, one red for off. Even a manager could handle it."
She lets out a small huff. It is the most progress I’ve made in a week. She shifts her weight and moves toward the back of the facility where the new intake rooms are being framed. The floor is a mess of scrap wood, bent nails, and piles of gravel. I watch her step over a stack of two-by-fours.
I wince. "Watch the footing. The guys didn't sweep this morning."
Zora waves a hand at me without turning around. "I'm fine, Theo. I just want to finish the walk-through."
She takes another step and her boot catches on a loose piece of rebar sticking out from the subfloor. Her ankle twists at a sharp angle. She lets out a quick gasp and goes down hard on her side.
I’m across the room before she even hits the concrete. I drop to my knees beside her. Her skin has gone ashen from the shock, and her eyes are squeezed shut. She’s clutching her left leg. "Don't move. Let me see."
I reach for her boot, but she flinches. "It’s fine. I just tripped."
She tries to sit up, and her face turns a grey tone. She falls back against my arm, her breathing coming in fast hitches. The bond pings in my chest, an alarm that tells me she’s in real pain.
I pull my phone out and hit the speed dial for Micah. "Zora’s down. Rear wing of the shelter."
I don't wait for his response. I shift so she’s leaning against my chest, my arms wrapped around her to keep her steady on the cold floor. She doesn't push me away this time. She just leans her head back against my shoulder and closes her eyes. "I told you to watch the floor."
She lets out a weak groan. "Shut up, Theo."
I hold her closer and wait for the sound of Micah's boots on the gravel.
Micah moves with a calm that pisses me off, but right now it is the one thing keeping the room from turning into a disaster.
He kneels on the concrete and pulls the laces of Zora’s boot loose.
His fingers are steady as he works the leather tongue back.
He slides the boot off her foot with a slow, careful motion.
Zora winces, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, but she doesn't make a sound.
Her ankle is puffing out, the brown skin turning a dark, bruised shade around the bone.
Reid and Dameon are standing by the door. Their shadows are long against the studs. They’re watching, their jaws set tight, but they stay back.
"It isn't broken. Just a Grade 2 sprain. You’re lucky you didn't catch the edge of that slab."
Micah wraps the ankle in a thick compression bandage. His fingers move with a rhythm that shows he's done this a thousand times. Zora stares at the ceiling, her jaw clenched.
"I can walk. Just give me a minute."
Micah stands up and slaps the dust from his knees. "You aren't walking anywhere for at least three days. You go home. You stay off it. I want it elevated and iced."
Reid steps forward. He looks like a manager even in a construction zone; his suit sharp and out of place among the drywall dust.
"We’ll take her back to the penthouse. Micah can monitor her there."
Zora's eyes snap to his. The wall is back up. "No. Take me to my place. I'm not staying in that golden cage."
Reid looks like he wants to argue, his mouth forming the start of a protest, but Dameon puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. They know the limit. If we push her now, she won't come back at all.
"I'll take her." I don't give them a choice. I reach down and slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. I lift her in one motion, she’s lighter than she looks, but her body is solid muscle.
She tenses for a second then relaxes, her hand gripping the fabric of my t-shirt.
The smell of honey and vanilla is a thick cloud around us, making my head swim.
I carry her out to my truck and settle her into the passenger seat. The drive to her part of town is a blur of stoplights and gridlock. The streets get narrower and the buildings get older as we move away from the high-rises. Her apartment is in a brick walk-up that has seen better decades.
I kill the engine and hop out of the cab. The street is quiet, the air thick with the smell of damp asphalt and street food. I walk around to the passenger side and pull the door open. Zora looks at me, her brown face tight with a mix of pain and pride.
"I can hobble up. Put me down."
"Not happening." I reach in and slide my arms under her, lifting her clear of the seat. She tenses for a second, then drops her head against my shoulder. The honey and vanilla scent is a cloud between us. I kick the truck door shut with my heel and turn toward the building.
It is an old brick walk-up with an external iron staircase that looks like it hasn't seen a coat of paint in a decade.
I start the climb. My boots clang against the metal treads, the sound echoing off the narrow alley walls.
Three flights of stairs. The air is warm and stagnant in the space.
By the time we hit the third floor landing, my lungs are on fire, but I don't let the strain show.
I shift her weight so I can reach the handle.
"The keys, Zora."
She fishes them out of her pocket and fumbles with the lock.
The door swings open into her apartment.
It’s a mess. Stacks of folders sit on the kitchen table.
Half-empty coffee mugs cover every surface.
A pile of laundry takes up the chair in the corner.
It is the apartment of someone who spends eighteen hours a day trying to save the world and zero hours taking care of herself.
It is the opposite of the sterile penthouse floors.
I carry her into the small living room and set her down on the sofa. It’s an old piece with mismatched cushions. I grab a couple of pillows from her bedroom and prop her leg up.
"Stay put. I'm going to find some ice."
"Theo, you don't have to stay. I can manage."
I walk into the kitchen and start opening cabinets.
"You can't even reach the sink without falling over. I'm staying until you've eaten and the swelling goes down."
I spend the next hour moving through the small space.
I wash the mugs and put them away. I stack the folders on the table by date, grouping the housing grants away from the legal briefs.
I find a bag of frozen peas in the back of the freezer and wrap it in a dish towel, then place it on her ankle.
She watches me from the couch, her expression unreadable.
I pull out my phone and order enough Chinese food to last her three days.
She sighs. "You're hovering."
"I'm organizing. There’s a difference." I pick up a stray sock from the floor and toss it toward the laundry pile. This is the first time I’ve been in her space since the night we begged her to take us back. It’s small and crowded, but it feels more like her than the penthouse ever will. I like the chaos of it.
"The food will be here in twenty minutes. I'm going to finish the dishes."
Zora shifts on the cushion, her eyes tracking my movements. "You're done, Theo. Go home."
I don't turn the water off. "Not until you've had a meal. Close your eyes and lean your head back."
She lets out a short huff but doesn't move. I turn the tap on and let the water run hot. I can feel her eyes on my back. The honey and vanilla scent is filling the room now, mixing with the steam from the sink. The noise in my head stops. I just need this. It is enough.
A knock at the door breaks the quiet. I grab the bags of Chinese food from the delivery guy.
The steam from the cartons fogs the plastic in my grip.
I walk into the kitchen and pull out the white boxes.
The smell of ginger and soy sauce fills the small room, mixing with the honey and vanilla scent that belongs to Zora.
I expect her to tell me to leave the bags on the counter and get out.
That has been the routine for months. She treats me like a biological requirement, something to handle so she can get back to her blueprints.
But when I look toward the living room, she watches me from the sofa. Her eyes aren't guarded for once.
"You might as well stay and eat. I can't finish half of this."