Percy had gone home for the night.
Jay stayed.
She didn't overthink it. She didn't explain it. She just stayed.
Hospital Room – Late Evening
"I want discharge tonight."
Keifer's voice was firm, controlled.
The doctor looked exhausted already. "Mr. Watson, your shoulder injury is deep. The impact caused muscle strain and internal bruising. If you leave now and strain it, you could worsen it."
"I have work."
"You have stitches."
"I also have something to investigate."
Jay entered at that exact moment, holding a small container of food.
She froze.
"What's going on?"
The doctor turned to her. "He wants to leave."
Her eyes immediately went to Keifer.
"You're leaving?"
"I can't lie here while things move outside."
The doctor sighed. "He needs at least a few more days."
He left them alone.
Silence.
Jay walked closer to the bed and placed the food down.
"You're seriously thinking about leaving?"
"Yes."
"You almost collapsed outside the building."
"I'm fine."
She stepped closer.
"No. You're not."
He looked at her then — that calm, controlled expression that usually scared everyone.
But not her.
She gently took his hand.
"Please stay."
He didn't answer.
"I know you want to investigate. I know you don't like feeling like this."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"But staying isn't weakness," she whispered. "Stay… for me."
That broke his resistance.
He exhaled slowly.
"…Fine."
Relief flooded her face instantly.
"But the moment I'm cleared, I'm out."
She nodded softly. "Deal."
She picked up the food container.
"Now sit properly."
"I can manage."
"You're injured."
"I'm not helpless."
She gave him a look.
"Don't argue."
He almost smiled.
She adjusted his pillow carefully and helped him sit up. The moment he moved his shoulder, he winced.
Her expression changed immediately.
"See?"
"It's nothing."
"Stop pretending."
She opened the container and picked up a spoon.
"Eat."
"I can—"
She lifted the spoon toward him.
"Don't."
He looked at her.
Then at the spoon.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
He sighed quietly but didn't argue again.
She fed him slowly, carefully, like he might break.
He didn't look away from her once.
Halfway through, he said softly, "You don't have to do this."
"I know."
Another spoon.
"But I want to."
That made something shift in his eyes.
Not pride.
Not control.
Something deeper.
He let her feed him without another word.
When she wiped a small bit of sauce from the corner of his lip with her thumb, he caught her wrist gently.
"You're making it hard to leave this bed."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because if this is how recovery feels, I might extend it."
She rolled her eyes softly but her cheeks warmed.
After he finished eating, she helped him lie back carefully.
"Rest," she ordered.
He looked at her for a long moment.
"You're staying?"
"Yes."
His fingers slowly laced with hers.
For once—
Mark Keifer Watson didn't fight.
Didn't argue.
Didn't demand control.
He just closed his eyes.
And stayed.
Because she asked him to.