Chapter 5 STAY

AVA'S POV

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I knew I pushed too hard the second my ankle rolled.

The pain shoots up my leg like fire, blooming bright and angry. I hit the mat hard, cursing through clenched teeth. My palms sting from the impact, but it's the throb in my ankle that steals my breath.

"Fuck," I hiss, trying to sit up.

I was doing fine-more than fine, actually. Training gave me something to focus on. Something to control. And after seventeen days locked in this place with nothing but silence and shadows, I needed to feel strong again.

But apparently, my body had other plans.

I try to stand.

Bad idea.

Pain screams through my leg. The room spins, and I nearly hit the floor again-until a hand grabs my arm.

"Idiot," Dominic mutters behind me.

Of course it's him.

His grip is firm but not rough. He pulls me upright like I weigh nothing and supports me before I can protest. My instinct is to jerk away, but the pain forces me to lean in.

Close. Too close.

His arm wraps around my waist, solid and unyielding, guiding me toward the nearby bench. He doesn't speak. Doesn't ask. He just takes over, and somehow... that's worse.

Because it's not cruel.

It's gentle.

And I don't know how to handle that.

"Let me go," I mutter.

"You'll fall."

"I don't care."

"Then you're stupider than you look."

I grit my teeth. "I don't need you."

He says nothing. Just lowers me onto the bench, his hand briefly brushing the bare skin of my thigh as he adjusts my leg.

Heat shoots up my spine. I hate that my body reacts. Hate that my breath catches.

Hate him.

"Take it easy, firecracker. I'm not trying to seduce you," he murmurs dryly, kneeling in front of me.

I glare at the top of his head. "You think you're that charming?"

"I know I'm not. But you keep watching me like you wish I were."

My face burns. I want to punch him. I want to scream. But most of all, I want to not feel the way I do when he touches me-like my skin is starving for it.

He removes my shoe carefully and begins inspecting the ankle. His fingers brush over the swelling, precise and clinical, but I still flinch.

"Sprained," he says. "Not broken. But if you'd kept pushing, you might've torn it."

"I can handle pain," I snap.

"I know." His eyes flick to mine-sharp and unreadable. "But not all pain is worth the pride."

I scoff. "Spoken like someone who's never bled for anything."

His eyes darken, and for a moment, I see something raw behind the cold.

"I've bled for everything," he says quietly.

Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Dense.

He wraps the ankle with a tension bandage from a nearby kit. The movements are practiced, almost too careful, like he's trying not to bruise me more than I already am.

When he finishes, he doesn't move away.

He stays kneeling in front of me, hands resting on my leg. Not possessively-more like he doesn't want to let go yet.

"I don't need your help," I whisper.

"You do."

"And if I don't want it?"

"Then that's your trauma talking."

I blink.

That lands deeper than I expect. Cuts somewhere old and tender.

"What do you know about my trauma?"

"Not enough. But I know it's shaped you into someone who can't tell the difference between control and kindness."

I want to scream at him. Want to spit in his face for being right.

Instead, I go quiet.

His hand is still on my leg, thumb brushing small, thoughtless circles against the skin.

"I'm not used to people helping," I admit.

"I'm not used to wanting to."

That startles me.

I look at him. Really look.

Dominic isn't just cold. He's tired. Worn down in a way that doesn't show in his perfect clothes or practiced smirks. There's something haunted in him, something ancient.

"You lost someone," I say.

It's not a question.

He nods, barely.

"Who?"

He pauses. "A girl. Not like you. But... not different enough, either."

"What happened to her?"

His jaw clenches. His eyes go distant.

"She trusted the wrong people. So did I."

I feel the weight of his guilt like a presence in the room.

That's what this is, I realize. That's why I'm still here. He's trying to rewrite a past he couldn't change.

"Is that what I am to you?" I ask. "A second chance?"

"No." He stands. "You're the warning I never heard."

He turns to leave, but I stop him with one quiet word.

"Stay."

He looks over his shoulder, brow furrowed.

I surprise myself when I add, "Just for a minute."

He walks back slowly. Sits beside me on the bench, careful not to touch.

We don't speak.

We just sit.

The quiet is different this time. Less like a void. More like an understanding.

And for the first time since waking up in that alley, I don't feel completely alone.

Not safe.

Not whole.

But not alone.