He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, no. Not as such. She accepted the paper but hasn’t written anything yet.” He coughed. “I don’t know where you found her, but the abuse her body has been through has aged her considerably. Her spine is that of a forty-year-old, not a girl in her early twenties. Her teeth need care, and some of the bruises have caused internal damage, not just surface discolouration.”

“Will she survive?”

“It's hard to say. She’s survived this long. She’ll have help and nutritious food and medicine, but she’ll never be able to do rigorous sports or strenuous exercise without discomfort. She’ll most likely endure early-onset arthritis from her injuries; she’ll need to be monitored for any signs of stiffening and bone heat.”

Fuck.

Not only had years of her freedom and happiness been stolen but she’d suffer long-term damage, too. Hadn’t she paid enough?

Shit, life isn’t fair.

“And that isn’t the worst thing,” Michaels added.

I froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…how old was she when she was taken into captivity?” He held up a hand to signal he wasn’t done talking. “And you don’t need to confirm or deny if I’m right. I’ve seen enough cases like this to know she’s been a slave.”

My breathing turned shallow. I’d enlisted Michaels because he was the best. But being the best meant he was smart. And he was too fucking smart for his own good.

“It’s not your business.” I crossed my arms. “Let it go.”

“I know it’s not my business, but I’m aware you’ve made it yours. It would be wise to know her history, her family—hell, it would be better if you dropped her off at the nearest cop shop.”

Not even Selix would dare be so presumptuous with suggestions.

My hands locked into fists. “Like I just suggested, let it go. She’s none of your concern.”

“Wrong. She is my concern. Her health, at least.” His face darkened with curiosity. “Do you know anything about her? The way she stared at the notepad makes me think she can’t read and write. She’s a starved, broken thing who has no tools for life or much of a future.”

My vision hazed red. “She’s not broken.”

“Well, I beg to differ. She has a few bones—”

“Bones don’t make her broken.”

“Yes, but…”

“And she’s not illiterate.”

Michaels paused. “How do you know?”

Because I’ve read her letters—glimpsed her secrets.

“Again—seeing as you’re making me repeat myself—none of your goddamn business.”

My temper didn’t scare him. He’d worked for me for years and knew how far to push. Cocky bastard.

He continued. “Okay, so at least we know she can talk—or at least write—when she is ready. However, I think it might be best if—”

I swallowed my growl. “If what?”

He sighed, cringing a little as my ire thickened. “If we drop her off at the next port and be done with her—like I said, drop her off at a cop shop. Her body can heal, sure. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure she’s as healthy as possible, but even cured there’s still the matter of her mind.”

My hands curled into fists. My patience waned. I had too much shit to do before I could visit my newest Phantom guest, and Michaels was pissing me off by assuming things about Pim he didn’t know.

You don’t know her, either.

Yes, but at least I planned to. I owed her for reasons I couldn’t untangle yet. I didn’t intend to throw her overboard just because she might be mentally unstable.

Fuck, all of us were mentally unstable to a degree. I wouldn’t be a hypocrite and deny otherwise.

She was one of the strongest women I’d come across, and she hadn’t spoken a word. That sort of strength…it did things to men like me. It made me want to break her and shelter her in equal measure. It set a war in motion between the devil and angel on my shoulders, and only time would tell what part of me would win.

My gaze narrowed. “There is nothing to discuss about her mind.”

“But she needs someone to talk to—”

“If she ever talks.”

Michaels straightened, as if I’d offended his medical expertise. “I sewed her back up. She will be able to talk. It’s a matter of if her mind is capable of speech, not her body.”

Swiping a hand over my face, I smiled tightly. “And for that, I’m grateful. Thank you for your commendable care once again. However, you do not need to concern yourself with her mental healing.”

“Do you intend to do it?” He crossed his arms.

His audacity set my blood hissing. “And if I said yes?”

“I’d say you’d be setting her and yourself up for failure.” His head bowed. “No offense, of course.”

I glowered at his apologetic stance. “Some taken but not enough to fire you.”

We shared a smile.

The tension dispersed.

He said, “I won’t tell you how to care for her. It’s not my business—like you keep reminding me—but I do know you. I know what you struggle with, and I know what we do in order to manage that. This girl…” He paused, before forcing himself to speak honestly even if I might not want to hear it. “This girl is damaged. And rightfully so. Whatever trick you think you can use to fix a lifetime of abuse? Well, I’m just warning you…it won’t be easy. It might not work. And you need to be prepared to get rid of her if her vulnerability makes you relapse.”