Dex carried her down the corridor like a man transporting contraband, one arm locked across the back of her thighs, the other braced against her lower back.
Serena had stopped protesting somewhere around the second hallway. Two guards stepped aside as they passed. Neither commented.
Halfway to their quarters, Dex adjusted. He shifted her weight without slowing, catching her under the knees and pulling her against his chest in one smooth motion. She went from slung over his shoulder to cradled in his arms so fast that her hand instinctively found the back of his neck.
His jaw was tight. His pulse was hammering against her palm.
He kicked their door open with his boot, carried her through, and set her on her feet.
The second her boots hit the floor, her spine straightened. Shoulders squared. Chin level.
Determined. Resolute. A woman with a plan.
