Luna woke to the smell of antiseptic and blood.
Her eyes cracked open. Unfamiliar ceiling. Cracked plaster. A single bare bulb hanging from a wire. She tried to move. Couldn't. Her body was lead.
"Easy," a voice said. "Don't try to sit up yet."
Luna's head turned. Pain shot through her neck. The man from the truck stood at a table. His back to her. Washing something in a metal bowl. Water ran red.
Her blood.
"Where am I?" Luna's voice came out raw. Broken.
"My house. Name's Dutch." The man didn't turn around. "You're on my kitchen table. Been working on you for about an hour. You lost a lot of blood."
Luna tried to push herself up. Her arms shook. Gave out.
"I said easy." Dutch turned. Walked over with a cloth. "You got seven deep lacerations. Three broken ribs. Severe dehydration. Possible internal bleeding. You need to stay still or you'll tear the stitches."
Stitches.
Luna looked down at her body. Bandages wrapped around her ribs. Her shoulder. Her thigh. Clean white gauze already spotted with red.
"You're a doctor?"
"Former military medic." Dutch pressed the cloth to her forehead. Cool. Wet. "You're running a fever. Infection's already setting in. I gave you antibiotics but you need rest. Real rest."
Luna's eyes moved around the kitchen. Small. Old appliances. Chipped linoleum. A window covered with a sheet. One door leading out. One door leading deeper into the house.
Escape routes. Always count the exits.
"You can relax," Dutch said. "I'm not holding you prisoner. You want to leave, leave. But you won't make it a hundred yards in your condition."
He was right. Luna could barely lift her head.
Dutch went back to the table. Started cleaning instruments. Scalpel. Scissors. Needle. All laid out precisely.
He didn't ask questions. Didn't demand her story. Just worked in silence.
But his eyes saw everything.
The scars on Luna's arms. Old. Professional cuts. Someone had been marking her for years.
The tattoos. Symbols that meant something. Not random. Deliberate.
The defensive wounds on her forearms. Fresh. Multiple fights. Recent violence.
The way Luna flinched when a pipe clanged somewhere in the house. The way her hand moved instinctively toward a weapon that wasn't there. The way she watched the door even while barely conscious.
Dutch saw it all. But said nothing.
He walked to a cabinet. Pulled out a bottle of water. Brought it to Luna. Helped her sit up enough to drink.
The water hit her throat like fire. She coughed. Choked. But forced it down.
"Small sips," Dutch said.
Luna took another drink. Then another. Her hands shook holding the bottle.
Dutch stepped back. "You need sleep. The fever's getting worse."
"Can't sleep." Luna's voice was barely a whisper. "Not safe."
"You're safe here."
"Nowhere's safe."
Dutch didn't argue. Just pulled a blanket over her. "Sleep anyway. I'll keep watch."
Luna wanted to fight. Wanted to stay alert. But her body betrayed her. The fever was burning through her. Her vision blurred.
The darkness pulled her under.
Luna woke screaming.
Fire surrounded her. Smoke choked her lungs. Her mother's body on the floor. Blood everywhere.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders. "Hey. Hey! You're okay. It's just a dream."
Luna's eyes snapped open. Dutch. Not Victor. Not fire.
Just Dutch's kitchen. Safe. For now.
Her whole body was shaking. Sweat soaked the blanket.
"Easy," Dutch said. His hands were gentle. Steady. "Fever dream. You've been having them for hours."
Hours.
Luna looked at the window. Still dark outside. Or dark again. She couldn't tell.
"What time is it?"
"Three in the morning. You've been out about twelve hours." Dutch brought fresh water. "Drink."
Luna drank. Her throat was raw from screaming.
"You kept calling for someone," Dutch said. "Aria. That a friend?"
Luna's chest tightened. "My daughter."
Dutch's expression didn't change. "Where is she?"
"Gone." The word came out broken. "Taken."
"By who?"
Luna looked at him. Decided. "The same people who did this to me."
Dutch nodded slowly. "That's why you were in the desert. You tried to get her back."
"I failed."
"You're still alive. That means you get another chance."
Luna wanted to believe him. But her body was broken. Her daughter was locked in that facility. And she had no plan. No resources. No hope.
"Sleep more," Dutch said. "You need strength before you can help anyone."
He was right. Luna closed her eyes.
The fever dreams came back. Aria crying. Maya bleeding. Victor laughing.
But Dutch was always there when she woke. Cool cloth. Fresh water. Quiet presence.
When Luna finally surfaced for real, sunlight streamed through cracks in the covered window.
Her mind was clearer. The fever had broken. Her body still hurt but the edge of delirium was gone.
Dutch sat in a chair by the window. Reading an old newspaper.
Luna tried to sit up. This time her body obeyed. Barely.
Dutch noticed. Set down the paper. "You're awake. Good. Been two days."
Two days.
Luna's stomach dropped. "Two days? I've been here two days?"
"Fever took you hard. Infection's almost clear now." Dutch stood. Walked over. Checked her bandages. "You'll live."
Luna swung her legs off the table. The room spun. She gripped the edge until it steadied.
"You planning to run?" Dutch asked.
"I've stayed too long. Put you in danger."
"Little late to worry about that." Dutch crossed his arms. "Besides, where would you go? You got no vehicle. No weapons. Barely any strength. You'd be dead by nightfall."
Luna hated that he was right.
"I can't stay here forever."
"Didn't say forever. Said until you're strong enough to have a fighting chance."
Luna looked at him. "Why are you doing this?"
Dutch's jaw tightened. "My daughter. When she needed help. No one helped her. Everyone turned away."
He met Luna's eyes.
"I won't be that person."
Luna didn't know what to say. Trust was dangerous. But Dutch had saved her life. Asked nothing in return.
She wanted to trust him.
But Victor had taught her better than that.
Before Luna could respond, something crackled.
A radio on the table beside Dutch's chair. Static filled the room.
Then a voice. Male. Cold. Official.
"All units. Be advised. We're looking for a woman matching the following description."
Luna's blood turned to ice.
Dutch's eyes flicked to the radio. Then to Luna.
The voice continued. "Mid-twenties. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Approximately five-foot-six. Multiple injuries. Last seen in the desert west of Canyon Road. May be on foot or may have acquired transportation."
Luna's hands gripped the table edge. Her knuckles white.
"Subject is considered dangerous. Check all residences in a fifty-mile radius. If spotted, call it in immediately. Do not engage alone."
Static crackled.
Luna stared at Dutch.
Dutch stared at the radio.
Neither moved.
The voice came back. "Repeating. All units search for female subject. Victor's men are searching the area. Report any sightings."
The radio went silent.
Luna's heart hammered. Her mind raced. Victor's men. Here. Searching.
She looked at Dutch. His face was unreadable.
And Luna realized she'd just made a terrible mistake.
She'd trusted a stranger.
Told him about Aria.
And now Victor's men were searching for her.
Dutch could turn her in. Collect whatever reward Victor was offering. Or just turn her over to avoid trouble.
Luna tried to stand. Her legs shook but held.
Dutch still hadn't moved. Just stared at the radio.
Then slowly, he reached out.