My shift ended at seven. I'd changed out of my scrubs and into jeans and a sweater — clothes that felt foreign after two weeks of leather and borrowed shirts and Kael's jacket draped over the back of my chair. The hospital locker room smelled the same as it always did. Disinfectant. Sweat. The faint mildew of a building the county had stopped funding a decade ago.
I was checking my phone — three texts from Lily, one from Wolf that was just a motorcycle emoji, one from Ghost that said "Harper filed follow-up paperwork. Be careful." — when I heard it.
Low. Steady. The kind of engine rumble that vibrated in your chest before your ears registered the sound.
I walked out the side entrance and found him.
Kael Voss was leaning against his Dyna in the hospital parking lot like he'd been born t
