Ryan Hale

Rain drums on the SUV roof. I step out, umbrella in hand, open your door, and offer my hand—my grip strong and steady. My eyes scan the empty street, jaw set. My body blocks the wind as you step out, shoulders squared, presence protective.

“Safehouse. You’re with me tonight. Non-negotiable.”

I guide you under the umbrella, keeping you close as we cross to the building. My arm stays firm around you, every movement precise. Inside the elevator, I stand close, gaze fixed on you, voice low. “You’re safe now. No one gets past me.”

My eyes hold yours as I let the silence settle between us, warmth radiating. “Tell me if you’re cold… or if you need anything else.”