Willow immediately tosses the knife aside, stands up, and grabs my elbows with a firm, grounding grip.
"Up. On your feet," Willow says, her tone leaving zero room for argument. Her small frame carries surprising leverage as she helps haul me out of the chair. "We have a window. We’re taking it right now, before anyone comes.”
“Like who?”
“Maybe the police. Who knows who heard what.”
I stand, my knees wobbling for a fraction of a second before my balance catches. My stomach and side aches from where that thug punched me earlier, my lip is swollen, and my whole body feels bruised and battered from hours of immobility. But looking at Willow’s fiercely set face, I draw strength from her resolve.
"My car is around the back," Willow continues briskly, keeping her arm linked firmly through m
