My stomach dropped.
Wraith continued, voice softer. “I don’t need details. Just making sure you remember the endgame.”
The silence between us went tight.
He shrugged once. “That’s it.”
“I didn’t?—”
The lie stuck.
His smirk said he knew better.
Before I could tell him to shove it, a knock hit the door—soft, hesitant. One beat, then silence.
Kellan.
I opened the door and felt the whole damn world narrow.
Kellan stood there wearing my cut.
The leather drowned him, hanging off his shoulders, brushing his thighs, but the second I saw him in it, something slammed into my chest hard enough to steal breath.
My cut. On him.
Christ.
His hair was still damp, his cheeks still flushed from the shower, and he held himself too damn straight, with his chin up like he was doing everything to show he wasn’t scared.
But I saw it anyway.
That flicker. Fear first. Then something deeper—trust—but it was gone almost before it appeared.
And I hated that I’d put the fear there. Hated even more that seeing him in my colors slid something inside me into place like it had been waiting for him.
Kellan stepped inside, and the room felt too small. The cut swallowed him; it was too big and too heavy but somehow he still looked right in it. Too right.
It clawed at something I didn’t want to name.
Wraith let out a low whistle. “Well, hell. Didn’t expect you to dress your hostage in your colors, Lock.”
“Shut up,” I snapped before the last syllable left him.
Kellan stiffened beside Ember, and his chin lifted a fraction. That quick flicker again… not fear, not attitude.
Fight. Quiet, stubborn fight.
Wraith opened his mouth again, but Ember shot him a look that could slice through leather.
He held his hands up and backed off. Smart.
I forced my attention back to Kellan. He stood a little straighter under my gaze, trying to look steady on his first full day in Crimson Havoc territory.
He whispered, “You said you wanted me here.”
“I did,” I said, voice rough. “Ember’s going to show you around. She’ll give you tasks. You stay with her. Understood?”
Kellan nodded, but his fingers brushed the edge of my cut again, touching my patch, grounding himself with it.
