I smoothed my hair, straightened my spine, and forced iron back into my tone. “Come in.”
Because no matter how much I shook when the door was closed, when Beckett Cole looked at me, I would always be Elara Voss—the woman who didn’t break.
10
Beckett
Her door closed behind me with a quiet thud, but I didn’t move. I stood in the hallway, boots planted, arms crossed, like some statue stationed outside a castle.
That was the job. Guard the asset. Keep her alive. Make sure Hydra didn’t get their claws back into her.
Simple.
Except nothing about Elara Voss was simple.
I’d seen her bleed in that warehouse. I’d seen her knock a man twice her size flat without breaking stride. I’d seen her stare down an entire room of operators who would’ve pulled the trigger on her if River had blinked the wrong way. She was steel. Sharp. Untouchable.
But steel didn’t tremble when it thought no one was looking. And I’d caught it. The faint shake in her hands when she thought the medic wasn’t paying attention. The flicker in her eyes tonight when I told her I didn’t trust her.
And that whisper—hell, I wasn’t supposed to have heard it, but I did. Through the glass.God help me, I didn’t know.
Part of me wanted to believe her. Wanted to think she’d been another pawn in Hydra’s game, not a willing player. But believing people had cost me before. Believing got men killed.
I pressed a palm against the cool wall beside her door, jaw tight. My instincts screamed two different things at once: keep her at arm’s length… and never let her out of my sight.
She didn’t know it, but I’d already made the decision. Whether she was lying, whether she was clean—it didn’t matter tonight. If Hydra wanted her, they’d have to go through me.
And God help them if they tried.
The handle rattled. Her voice came through, steady and cool, like she’d been rehearsing it.“Come in.”
I didn’t move right away. I stood there another beat, listening to the strength in her tone that didn’t quite hide the fragility I knew was underneath.
Finally, I stepped inside.
Elara was on her feet, posture perfect, hair smoothed, eyes sharp as ever. No sign of weakness. No trace of the woman I thought I’d glimpsed when her armor slipped.
And I told myself it was better that way. Cleaner. Easier.
But the truth? The truth was worse.
Because the more she fought to hide her cracks, the more I wanted to be the one who kept them from shattering.
11
Elara
The door opened, and there he was.
Broad shoulders filling the frame, shadow cutting across the floor, eyes pinned on me like he was already calculating the distance between his gun and my chest. Beckett Cole. My guard. My executioner, if it came to that.
I forced myself not to move. Not to fidget. Not to show that the sight of him standing in my space sent my pulse skittering. Hydra had drilled it into me long ago:fear is leverage, never let them see it.
So I straightened my blouse, lifted my chin, and met his stare head-on. “Couldn’t stay away?”
The corner of his mouth didn’t twitch—no smirk, no crack of humor. Just that steady, unreadable look. The kind that made me wonder if he’d already mapped every weak point in me.
He didn’t answer right away. He just stepped farther inside, slow, deliberate, as though he owned the air between us. And God help me, part of me wanted him to.
