"Why?" He held her gaze. "We're being honest tonight. Might as well be honest about this too."
"There's nothing to be honest about."
"Liar." But he said it gently. "You want me. I want you. Last night proved that. This morning proved you're scared of it. And right now, working together in candlelight while snow falls, proves we're better as a team than we ever were apart."
She wanted to argue and rebuild the walls he kept scaling with words and patience and that insufferable confidence. But sitting here surrounded by evidence of Hector's conspiracy, working with Dante to build a defense that would protect everything she'd built, Maeve couldn't deny the truth.
They worked well together.
Fit together in ways that went beyond physical.
"We should finish this," she said, pulling another stack of papers closer. "Varric will want complete documentation."
"Maeve—"
"Please." She met his eyes. "Just let me work. Let me focus on something I can control."
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. We work. But this conversation isn't finished."
"It never started."
"Keep telling yourself that, Cub." He grabbed a pen, marking dates on the timeline. "Doesn't make it true."
They fell back into rhythm. Sorting. Organizing. Building a case that would destroy Hector's plans. Coffee cooled and was refreshed. Candles burned low and were replaced. Snow piled higher against windows.
And through it all, Maeve felt him. Felt the warmth of his presence across the table. Felt his gaze when he thought she wasn't looking. Felt the mate connection humming between them like a living thing.
Felt herself wanting despite every reason not to.
22
DANTE
The wind hit like a freight train.
Dante looked up from the timeline he'd been marking, papers scattering as a gust rattled the tavern windows hard enough to make the glass bow. Outside, snow no longer fell in lazy flakes. It drove sideways, thick and vicious, turning the world into white chaos.
"That escalated fast," Maeve said, moving to the window. "Weather report said light snow through morning."
Dante stood, joining her at the glass. Drifts were already piling against the buildings across the square, some reaching window height. "This is going to get worse before it gets better."
"You should leave now while you still can."
He tried the front door. It opened maybe six inches before hitting a wall of snow that had drifted against it. Wind howled through the gap, bringing stinging ice and cold that bit through his jacket. He shoved harder. The door didn't budge.
"Back door?" he suggested.
Maeve tried it with the same result. Snow had drifted against both entrances, packed solid by wind that screamed likesomething alive. She pushed once more, muscles straining, then stepped back with a curse.
"We're stuck," she said flatly.
"Looks like." Dante surveyed the tavern. Fireplace cold. Windows rattling. The space already losing heat as the storm sucked warmth through every crack and seam. "We should move somewhere smaller. Easier to keep warm."
"My apartment's upstairs." She didn't look at him. "It's connected. Smaller. Better insulated."
"You inviting me up, Cub?"
"I'm being practical." She grabbed the organized stacks of evidence, bundling them carefully. "The tavern has too many windows. Too much space to heat. And I don't need anyone seeing us trapped down here together. Last time that happened, half the town gossiped for days."
