Arthur walked over to me. The cold apex predator vanished, replaced instantly by the father. He knelt beside me, his large frame blocking out the sight of the ruined living room. His hardened face softened, the lines around his eyes crinkling with deep sorrow and fierce protection.
“If I kill him, Maya,” Arthur said softly, his voice meant only for me, “I go to a federal penitentiary for the rest of my life. And you are left alone to clean up this mess. We do not fight wars we cannot win. A tactical retreat is not a surrender; it is a repositioning for absolute victory.”
I nodded, tears finally spilling over my bruised cheeks. “I know.”
Arthur reached into the pocket of his tactical sweater. He pulled out my phone—the one I had dropped on the bloody floor hours ago. He wiped a smear of dried blood off the screen with his thumb and placed it gently into my trembling hand.