Her head felt like it was being split open.

Louise cracked open an eye. There was a ringing noise in her ears, and something warm trickled down her face. She touched her forehead; her fingers came away red. Her lap was vibrating, and it took her a moment to realize what it was: her phone.

She glanced at the cracked screen. Raised it to her ear.

"Hello?" she croaked.

"Louise?" Ben's voice was filled with relief. "Louise, is that you?"

She winced. "Yeah."

"Are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm..." She blinked, taking in the cracked windshield. The green plants poking through the window. Her stomach rolled. "Oh, my god. Something's happened." Her voice cracked. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I feel really strange."

"I'm coming to get you," Ben said.

She could hear the hum of an engine, and for a terrible second, Louise thought that she was still driving, that Sebastian's car was still moving, but no; it was on Ben's side of the line. He was in a car. She frowned.

"Did I call you already?" Louise asked.

How else would Ben know to come get her? She had a head injury, Louise thought; maybe she'd forgotten. When Ben spoke, his voice was deliberately calm, as if he was trying not to panic, and her heart sped up.

"No," Ben said. "I've been trying to call you, but you weren't picking up. Arabella rung me. She sounded really worried." There was a pause. She could hear a turn signal. "Louise, do I need to call an ambulance?"

She thought about it. More warm liquid trickled down her face.

"Yes," Louise said. "I think so."

"Okay," Ben said, in that same calm tone. "I'm going to hang up and call them. I have your location on my phone, but I need you to confirm that it's correct, okay?" He rattled off a series of street names. "Is that where you are?"

Her head gave a painful throb. "I think so."

"Stay put, Louise," Ben said. "I'm on my way."

She swallowed. "Please hurry."

Louise hung up. She unbuckled her seatbelt with shaking hands, pushing open the car door. The red Mercedes was smoking slightly, the front bumper smashed in. A low moaning sound came from the other side of the car. She stumbled towards it, feeling the impact of each step jolt up her spine.

"Sebastian?" Her voice was hoarse. "Is that you?"

"Louise?"

He was sitting against the car, his head resting against a tire. His blond hair had grass matted in it, but he looked otherwise unharmed, Louise thought; she leaned against the vehicle, fighting a wave of dizziness.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"I'm okay." Sebastian swallowed. "Your face..."

"I know."

Louise could feel blood matting in her hair. She drew a shaky breath, trying to gather her thoughts. Irritation curled in her chest, yes, but she was afraid, too; afraid that something was seriously wrong. Afraid that Ben and the ambulance would come too late.

Sebastian staggered to his feet. "Louise, I'm so sorry."

She ignored him. Sebastian drew closer.

"Louise—"

"Shut-up," she muttered. "I'm trying not to be sick."

Nausea filled her. The world seemed to slosh this way and that, rocking like a great boat. Sebastian looked alarmed.

"Do you need to sit down?"

"I—"

"Louise!" a voice called.

She looked up. A car was pulling up on the road, headlights flashing. She knew it was Ben by the sound of his footsteps, those strong, purposeful strides. Even in the darkness, Louise could see the stiff set of his shoulders. Ben stopped next to her. She held her breath as he gently tipped her head from side-to-side, his green eyes flicking over her face.

"Your head," Ben breathed. "You're bleeding."

Louise closed her eyes. "It doesn't hurt."

"Do you know where you are?" he asked. "Do you know who I am?"

If it had been any other day — any other moment — Louise would have cracked a joke. "Sorry, who are you?" she would have said, or maybe, "Oh, you're the weirdo that keeps putting skimmed milk in my fridge." But Ben's green eyes were blazing, the hottest part of a flame, and she couldn't look away.

"You're Ben," Louise whispered, because of course he was: she would know him anywhere. She would know him in the darkness. In her sleep. In hospital, half-delirious with fever. He was Ben. Her Ben.

Sebastian cleared his throat.

"Should we call an ambulance?" he asked.

For the first time, Ben's eyes slid to Sebastian. Hardened. The fire in them cooled, turning to jagged bits of stone, sharp enough to slice. Before Louise was fully aware of what was happening — before she could stop him — Ben had Sebastian by the scruff of his shirt, slamming him into the car.

"Ben!" she shouted.

Ben ignored her. "You sick bastard." He slammed him against the car, hard enough to rattle his teeth. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Stop!"

Louise darted forward, yanking at Ben's shoulder. She might as well have been trying to move a boulder; her head spun with the effort of it.

"Let him go," she said. "He could have a head injury."

Ben's grip tightened. Sebastian made a choking noise, his face turning purple, and Louise's alarm grew.

"Look at me, Ben," she said.

His forearm was digging into Sebastian's windpipe. She touched his shoulder.

"Ben," Louise said. "I need you."

Slowly, Ben tipped his face towards her, and her breath lodged in her throat. She'd seen him wear a hundred different expressions before — amusement, disdain, jealousy — but there was something terrifying about his face now. She might as well have been staring into a fathomless pit, dark and remote as the bottom of the sea.

"I need you," she repeated. "Please."

Ben blinked. His eyes seemed to clear, and he let go of Sebastian; the other man gasped, grabbing at his throat. Ben's hands were shaking. Louise took them, folding them in her smaller ones. Anchoring him.

"I'm okay," she said. "I'm here."

Ben swallowed. Nodded.

"You're here," he said, as if he needed to repeat it to believe it.

Louise squeezed his hands. "I'm not going anywhere."

Three lacerations to the head.

Two bruised ribs.

One concussion.

Louise nodded as the doctor rattled off the injuries, saying something about bedrest and fluids and stitches. It wasn't as if she needed to listen; Ben was scribbling down notes on a receipt from the hospital cafeteria, his dark head bent over the table. She wouldn't be surprised if he was recording it on his phone, too.

"And you can take paracetamol," Doctor Faber was saying. "But avoid ibuprofen for the first 48 hours, because that could prevent your ribs from healing as quickly."

Louise nodded.

Ben scribbled more notes.

Doctor Faber gave her one last warning about avoiding screens and strenuous work before departing. Louise waited until the door shut, and then turned to face Ben.

"You know," Louise said, "he has the exact same surname as the author that writes the Duke of Wicked Lies series." She waggled her eyebrows. "Odds that he moonlights as a romance writer?"

Ben was silent, his eyes trained on the table. Louise frowned.

"Ben?"

He blew out a breath. "Just... give me a second."

Ben was gripping the pen so tightly that she thought it might snap. A pulse jumped in his throat. A long silence passed, and then — cautiously — Louise tried again.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine," he grunted.

"Really?" Louise adjusted the bandage on her head. "Because you don't look okay." There was another pause. She shifted. "Ben, if you'd just tell me what's wrong, we can—"

"I'm concentrating." Ben's voice was tight. "I'm concentrating on not running up and down the corridor, banging on every door in this hospital until I find Sebastian. So I can kick the shit out of him." The pen snapped. "Does that answer your question?"

Louise paused.

Ben's breathing was ragged. Empty granola bar wrappers and hot chocolate cups littered the table, along with a pen that had run dry on ink. Ben was staring at the pen as if he'd quite like to snap that one, too.

"Okay," Louise said. "Understood."

Her voice was amused. Something about it must have calmed him because Ben sighed, moving to place both pens in the bin.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's okay." Her ribs gave a painful twinge, and Louise stifled a wince. "Any update from Ophelia?"

She and Andrew were watching the kids for the evening, according to Ben. Louise had glanced at her phone only briefly, but it had been enough time to discern that Ophelia had sent her several text messages, ranging from "Are you okay? Ben seems worried..." to "I WILL ACTUALLY KILL THAT MAN WTF?!"

"She called," Ben said. "While you were getting scans." He picked up Louise's water glass, filling it up in the bathroom sink. "Hugh's asleep. Vienna threw all her toys into the toilet and tried to climb out a second-story window." He smiled. "Standard procedure."

He set the water glass on the table. Louise frowned.

"You don't need to fuss over me," she said.

Ben looked exasperated. "Bentley. You were just in a car accident. I think you're entitled to a little pampering."

"I really freaked you out, didn't I?"

Her voice was quiet. Ben's smile faded. He pulled up a chair next to Louise's bed, bowing his head, and she thought of the fairytales that Millie had read her as a child, of the knight that sheathed his sword and knelt before a dragon instead of killing it, winning the hand of a soft-hearted princess.

"When Arabella called me..." Ben was staring at his hands. "I thought you were dead, Louise. It was Millie and James all over again." He shook his head. "You have no idea how it felt to be driving in the darkness, trying over and over to call you, only for the call to go straight to voicemail. I thought I'd lost you."

Ben's voice cracked. Something in her broke, too, and Louise placed his hand on her wrist. Her pulse beat out silent words: I'm alive, I'm alive.

"I'm right here," Louise said softly.

"I know."

"Ben..." She steeled herself. "I want to make this work."

He raised his head. "What do you mean?"

"I want you." Louise could feel her pulse speeding up, the flutter of insect wings under his thumb. "And I know that you're going to say that I can't possibly know that, or that I might change my mind, and I get it. I really do. But at the end of the day, when that car was going off the road, I was thinking of you." Her voice shook. "You're the reason that I want to keep going, Ben. You're the thing that I'm fighting for. And if that's not enough reason to try, then I don't know what is."

It cost her a lot to say it. To even think it.

Ben was watching her with steady green eyes. Louise thought of a story that she'd read once, about a king that hired a wizard to make him a beautiful, invisible cloak. Whenever the king wore it, the cloak transformed so that his subjects saw whatever they most desired: a doublet made of spun gold, or armor encrusted with rare, exotic rubies.

She'd been wearing that cloak her entire life.

But with Ben, Louise thought, it was different; he was staring straight through it, seeing her naked body underneath. The ugly scar near her collarbone, and the stretch marks where her hips grew too fast. He saw her.

There was nothing more terrifying and exhilarating than that.

"You really want to make this work?" Ben murmured.

He was stroking idle circles on her wrist, exactly as he did to help her sleep. Louise shivered.

"I really do," she said.

His mouth quirked. "Really?"

"Really."

"How much?"

"A lot," Louise said. "So much."

Ben's smile grew. "Jesus, Bentley, alright. Stop embarrassing yourself. You don't have to beg me."

Louise whacked him on the arm, and Ben laughed. It was her favourite of his laughs — warm and carefree, the kind that he only did around family and friends — and she smiled. How could she have gone without hearing that laugh again?

"Ben?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

She tilted her head up. "Can you kiss me now?"

Ben sighed. "You're concussed."

He looked saddened by that prospect. Louise's mouth curved up.

"So?" she asked.

"God, you're impossible," Ben muttered.

But he kissed her, anyway.