Her mouth parted, a sharp intake of breath breaking the silence. Then she rose, the book slipping unnoticed to the floor. Her hands clasped together as if she were holding something fragile inside herself. “Really?”
He nodded once.
The relief in her face was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It transformed her, softening the lines of tension he’d grown used to seeing there, igniting something bright that filled the room.
And it punched him straight in the chest.
The ache that spread there was unfamiliar and sharp, pulling at him in ways he couldn’t compute. He catalogued emotionseasily: fear, anger, grief, but this? This mix of warmth and pain, this desperate need to keep her smiling like that, it unsettled him to his bones.
“Yes,” he said, his voice lower than he meant. “But it’ll be controlled. Public, monitored. You don’t move without me.”
Her nod was quick and emphatic. “Of course. Thank you. You don’t know what this means.”
He did. And God help him, he wanted to give her more of it, to keep seeing her like this, even though it was dangerous. Especially because it was dangerous.
Before he could find the words, the door opened and Lotus swept in, Damon at her side.
“We’re heading to the pub,” Lotus announced, her grin sharp and playful. “Longtown. Fancy stretching your legs?”
Damon added, “Could use a pint after the week we’ve had.”
Watchdog’s first instinct was to refuse. Crowds, noise, strangers, it was never his scene. He thrived in silence, in the glow of screens, in order. A pub was the opposite of that.
But Clara was watching him, her expression curious, a spark of longing beneath it. He saw it, her hunger for the ordinary, for laughter, for anything that wasn’t walls and secrets.
Her eyes caught his. She gave the faintest nod. “All right,” he heard himself say.
Lotus clapped her hands together. “Brilliant. Don’t scowl the whole time, Watchdog. You’ll scare the locals.”
He smirked. “Have you met the locals?”
Lotus laughed as Damon hooked her around the waist and dropped a kiss to her neck. “Yeah, fair point. They are pretty scary.”
For the first time since he could remember, watching his friends with their partners made him yearn for the same. What would it be like to show that open love and desire for someone who felt the same way? His gaze slid to Clara, and he wonderedwhat it would be like to have someone like her in his life. He dismissed it as soon as the thought landed. Why would she ever want someone like him? Someone broken.
The underground vehicle bay smelled of oil and cold stone. Jackets zipped, boots laced, they gathered by the van. Bás waited, immovable as ever, a black hood in his hand.
Protocol. No outsider saw the route to their base.
He extended it without a word.
The sight of it turned Watchdog’s stomach. The hood meant secrecy. Control. It meant Clara was again reduced to a prisoner, stripped of dignity.
“No.” His voice was flat. Final.
Clara blinked, startled. “It’s all right,” she said quickly, glancing at Bás, “if it keeps you safe.”
“It’s not all right.” Watchdog stepped closer, his jaw tight. “She’s part of this now.”
The silence that followed was heavier than stone. Bás’s gaze locked on his, unyielding, the air between them charged.
“You want to do this?” Bás asked at last, his voice low, edged with warning.
“Yes.” No hesitation. The word came out firm, certain, though his heart hammered.
Bás stepped in, close enough that Watchdog felt the weight of his authority like gravity. “Then she’s yours. Your responsibility.”
The truth of it struck him deep. The weight, yes, but also the rightness of it. He hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t sought it, but the idea of being responsible for Clara didn’t feel like a burden. It felt inevitable. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said quietly.
