“Tea,” she said, offering it to him with a quiet smile, “and Hobnobs. Don’t tell me I don’t know how to bribe you.”
The scent hit him first, sweet oats, the faint hint of chocolate. His chest eased despite himself. “You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered,” Val said, easing down into the chair beside his bed. Monty settled at her feet, Scout curling close at her other side, both of them watchful, protective. “Youthink we don’t notice you and your habits? That would be insulting.”
He managed a faint huff of air that almost passed for a laugh. He dipped the biscuit into his tea, the steam fogging his lashes. For a long moment, silence sat between them, comfortable in its own way.
Then Val spoke, her tone soft but not idle. “So, Watchdog. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
His chest tightened. He could feel the weight of her eyes, the warmth of her presence pressing against the sharp edges of his guilt. He thought about spinning a story, something neat and sterile that would keep her out of the fire. But Val knew him too well.
She tilted her head slightly, caught the flicker in his gaze. Her hand lifted, palm up, stopping him before he’d even spoken as she stood. “Forget it. You can’t lie to me. You can tell me nothing, you can tell me to go to hell, but you cannot lie to me.”
The truth of it sat heavy in the air. Watchdog sighed, low and rough, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Stay.”
Her lips curved. She sank back into the chair without a word, Scout shifting to rest his chin on her knee.
“Is Clara really all right?” The question scraped raw from him before he could stop it.
Val nodded, her expression steady. “She’s in one of the spare apartments. Fed, clothed, warm. She’s frightened, yes, but no one has touched her. She’s resting now.”
Relief cracked through his chest like sunlight. He let out a long breath, his eyes closing for a beat. “Thank you.”
Her hand brushed his shoulder briefly, steady.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” he said finally, voice low. “But not just you. I think…I think I owe the whole team the truth. Maybe I should’ve remembered sooner, but you’re more thancolleagues. You’re…” He stopped, jaw tightening against the word.
“Family,” Val finished softly, her smile gentle but her eyes fierce. “We are a family, Watchdog. You might have forgotten for a minute, but none of us did.”
Something shifted in him, a knot loosening. He let himself nod once, curt but honest. Then he pushed off the bed, slower than usual but with determination, his movements deliberate. “I need to go to my room.”
Val arched a brow. “Your actual room, or the one with more screens than furniture?”
He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth tugged faintly upward.
She trailed him down the corridor, Scout and Monty padding close. The familiar hum of his tech room reached him first, the quiet beeps, the low murmur of voices. The door opened, spilling light across his skin, and for the first time since the night began, the world felt almost right again.
Snow was perched at one console, her pale hair caught in the glow of monitors, while Duchess leaned over another, eyes scanning feeds with razor focus.
“Watchdog!” Snow was on her feet instantly, her smile breaking wide as she hurried across the room. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, careful of his side but firm all the same. “God, I’m glad you’re okay. We missed you, and Fleur missed her favourite uncle.”
Her warmth soaked into him, foreign but not unwelcome. He patted her shoulder awkwardly before she let go, her grin irrepressible.
“Don’t let Bás hear you talking like that,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it.
Duchess looked up, a rare smile softening her sharp features. “Good to see you vertical, Watchdog.”
He inclined his head, then moved past them both, his steps drawing him straight to the wall of screens. His fingers flew over the keyboard automatically, calling up the feed he’d already coded into muscle memory.
Clara’s room.
The camera angle was high, discreet. She was curled on the bed, bundled in fresh clothes, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight uncoiled something inside him, tension easing with the proof that she was safe. He let himself watch for a long moment, longer than he should have, before turning back. “Val,” he said, his voice quiet but steady, “gather the team. I owe them all of this.”
Val’s hand brushed his arm, the same steady comfort she’d offered for years. “Good. That’s the man we know.”
Snow leaned on the console beside him, eyes twinkling. “Oh, this is going to be interesting. Family meeting with Bás in a mood? I’ll make popcorn.”
Watchdog let out a faint exhale that almost passed for a laugh, his gaze returning to the sleeping figure on the screen. “Popcorn might not save me.”
