It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
"Why?" Her eyes search mine, frustration and curiosity warring in her expression. "Why show yourself to me? Why save us? Why tell me anything at all?"
I could give her many answers. Because you carry a piece of my soul. Because we're bound together by forces older than either of us. Because every moment apart from you feels like drowning.
Instead, I brush my thumb across her knuckles, marveling at how something so simple can feel so profound. "You're not alone anymore, Astrid.”
Something flickers in her expression—vulnerability, longing, fear—all swiftly masked as Sutter groans nearby, beginning to stir. But in that unguarded moment, I see what she tries so hard to hide. The isolation of living a double life, the exhaustion of constant vigilance, the desperate hunger for connection with someone who truly sees her.
Reluctantly, I release her hand, though every instinct in me rebels against putting distance between us. "I’ll see you soon," I say, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face.
"I’m changing my locks," she says.
I smile, allowing my finger to linger against her cheek for just a moment longer than necessary. "You know that won’t keep me away."
Her eyes search mine. "The feeling I have under my skin..."
"Yes." I take a step back as Mendez also begins to move, time running out for this stolen moment. "Trust what you feel. I will always protect you." I brush my lips against her forehead—the barest ghost of a kiss and then step back fully into Cormac’s glamour so the rookies won’t see me.
It’s one of the hardest steps of my life.
Leaving her behind. Feeling her gaze on me like fire on my skin.
“Make sure we know her next assignment, Cormac. I’m not waiting another 3 days to see her because we couldn’t get the information fast enough.”
“Already calling.” He waves the small black portable communication device at me and then puts it back to his ear.
CHAPTER 21
Hellhounds
* * *
Astrid Mathieson
The early morning fog curls around the abandoned warehouse complex like ghostly fingers, softening the jagged edges of rusted metal and crumbling concrete. I adjust my position on the roof of what was once an administrative building, now just a hollowed-out shell perfect for surveillance. The cold concrete beneath me seeps through my tactical pants, a dull ache in my knees that I ignore.
Below me, Sutter and Mendez move with all the stealth of drunk elephants, their tactical gear catching on debris as they sweep the area for our targets. It's almost as if they've gotten worse since the Louisiana mission.
The air tastes of rust and stagnant water, tinged with that unmistakable scent of urban decay that clings to abandoned places. My breath puffs white in the pre-dawn chill, dissipating into the mist that shrouds everything in ghostly ambiguity.
Though to be fair, we all barely had a night's sleep before being sent out on this noise disturbance call about rabid dogs. The rest of yesterday was a blur of excuses and paperwork.
After Fen and his companion disappeared into the mist in Louisiana, I'd spun a story about an unexpected gas pocket in the dead forest causing my rookies to pass out momentarily. Hayes seemed skeptical but couldn't argue with the physical evidence we'd collected of environmental toxicity.
The five-hour flight back to headquarters, followed by three hours of decontamination protocols and debriefing, left all of us exhausted. I barely had time to shower before collapsing into bed, my dreams haunted by those red-eyed birds and the sensation of Fen's fingers against my cheek. My phone had chimed at 4 AM with this new assignment, the perfect punishment for an agent who'd lost two teammates to mysterious unconsciousness in the field.
"Anything?" Sutter's voice crackles through my earpiece, too loud as usual, the static making me wince.
"Negative," I reply, scanning the complex through high-powered binoculars. "Continue your search pattern. Remember, these are likely rabid animals. Approach with caution."
"Copy that." Mendez at least knows how to modulate her voice on comms.
This assignment is so far beneath my pay grade it's practically subterranean. Hayes clearly meant it as continued punishment—chasing reports of "rabid dogs" terrorizing workers at a half-abandoned industrial complex outside of town. The only reason GUIDE is involved at all is because the property owner, Ellison Holdings, has political connections and insisted the animals displayed "unnatural behavior."
Translation: I'm dog-catching with two rookies who couldn't handle a brownie in a restaurant kitchen. My fall from grace is practically Luciferian at this point.
I track Mendez through the binoculars as she clears another building. Her silhouette moves jerkily against the grey backdrop, all inexperienced angles and hesitation. Meanwhile, my brain keeps circling back to golden eyes and bare skin and the impossible pull I feel whenever he's near.
