“Time for what?” His hands dropped to his sides. “Time for goodbye? Time for us?”
“Jay—” Still she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t witness the pain she was causing. “You need to get to safety. You need to warn the rings.”
He studied her face, reading the truth she couldn’t bring herself to voice. Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flash of something darker.
“You’re really going to do this,” he said, the words falling like stones between them. “You’re going to take the Vow. With him.”
The weight of his gaze felt unbearable. “I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Shade.” His voice hardened. “Even when all the options are shit, there’s still a choice. You’re the one that told me that.”
She ran a hand through her hair, frustration building beneath her skin. “What would you have me do? Let your clinic be bombed, the camps? Let children and families die because I was selfish? Because I wanted to go home?”
“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” The question was quiet, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse.
“No,” she said immediately, the denial sharp. “It’s more complicated than that. I’m trying to keep everyone safe.”
“It’s not just about safety,” Jameson pressed, taking a step closer. “I know you, Shade. I can see it.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze, to hold it steady. “What you see is exhaustion. Fear. Survival. What you see is someone with a new perspective, who doesn’t hate him in the same way I once did. I am playing my part. I have to—needto keep you alive.”
Jameson stared at her, assessing, trying to hold back the emotion that threatened to break through, as if searching for something he’d lost. His face was a battlefield of expressions—grief warring with anger, understanding with betrayal. In the harsh blue light of the anti-scan room, the shadows beneath his eyes looked like bruises, proof of sleepless nights and endless worry.
“You don’t need to protect me,” he said finally, his voice rougher than before. “That’s not your job.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked quietly. “Isn’t that what we’ve always done for each other?”
The weight of their situation settled into Shadera’s bones—this might be the last time they ever saw each other. The thought sent a spike of pain through her chest so sharp she almost gasped. After everything they’d been through together, after all the missions, the close calls, the nights of drinking and laughing and holding each other when the nightmares came, it couldn’t end with him dying because of her selfish need for revenge.
“You need to go,” she said again, her voice softer now. “Go back to the Boundary. Prepare them for what might come.”
He looked away, his profile sharp in the dim light. She could see the calculations running behind his eyes, the strategist in him weighing options, looking for solutions where there might be none.
“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “I’m sorry for not listening when you told me not to take the contract. I’m sorry for bringing this down on everyone. I’m sorryfor—”
Jameson’s head snapped back toward her, his eyes suddenly fierce. He moved before she could finish, his hands coming up to cradle her face, fingers splaying across her cheeks with a gentleness that belied the intensity in his gaze.
“Shadera Kael,” he said, his voice low and intense, “don’t you ever apologize for your anger.”
Her breath caught at the unexpected absolution.
“You walked into the Heart knowing you might never come back, not just because of what his family did to yours, but because you believed it would make a difference. That’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been.” His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, the touch reverent. “The woman who fights even when victory seems impossible. The woman who puts others before herself even when she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.”
The tears she’d been holding back threatened to spill over. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall, refusing to make this goodbye harder than it already was.
Jameson released her face, one hand moving to his belt where he retrieved a small, flat object. “Here,” he said, pressing it into her palm. “Keep this on you if you can. It’s an encrypted tablet. We can coordinate what comes next.”
Shadera looked down at the device. It was no bigger than her hand, sleek and black. A lifeline to the world outside, to Jameson, to freedom. She slipped it into her pocket next to the picture, praying Greyson wouldn’t search her when they returned to his apartment.
“The signal is weak,” Jameson explained, his voice dropping lower, more urgent. “But it will connect to our network once a day at three a.m. Keep it hidden. Use it to let us know what’s happening, where the bombs might be dropped if something goes wrong.”
She nodded, her throat too tight for words. The clock was ticking down—their minutes nearly up, Greyson’s return imminent. Thisgoodbye had to last them, might need to sustain them through whatever came next.
The radio at his belt crackled again, Jaeger’s voice cutting through with unmistakable urgency. “Ghost, exit window closing. Move now.”
Shadera stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face into his neck as his arms clutched her against his body.
“We’ll get through this,” he murmured into her hair, his lips brushing against her temple. “We always do.”
