“And he let us think?—”
“I know.”
I lifted my head. The moon caught the tear tracks on her cheeks. She’d been crying, too. For me. For the boy who’d lost a father twice in one night—and now a family he didn’t even know he had.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” I said.
She cupped my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “You’re Levi Dane,” she said. “You’re still you. The rest is just … noise. We’ll sort the noise tomorrow.”
I stared at her. This woman who’d seen me at my worst—desert dust, blood, betrayal—and still looked at me like I was worth something.
I kissed her.
Not hungry. Not angry.
Just need. Just gratitude. Just the only truth I had left.
She kissed me back, soft and slow, hands framing my face like I was something precious.
When we broke apart, foreheads still touching, she said, “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
I nodded against her.
Inside, the parlor light flickered. Voices murmured—Byron and Charlie, probably waiting.
I stood, pulling her up with me. My legs felt like they’d run a marathon, but they held.
Amelia laced her fingers through mine.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
But I walked back inside, anyway.
Because some battles you don’t win by being ready.
You win by showing up.
15
AMELIA
Walking back into Dominion Hall felt like stepping into someone else’s life.
Just hours ago, this place had been an assignment. A lead. A network I intended to peel apart with surgical precision.
Now, the marble under my heels felt like it belonged to a family I hadn’t known existed—and to a man I’d spent two years training myself to hate.
Levi’s fingers were laced with mine as we crossed the foyer. His grip was firm, but there was a tremor in it he couldn’t disguise. He always moved like a mountain—sure, deliberate, weight distributed just right. Tonight, he felt like a cliff edge that had just learned the ocean underneath it wasn’t quite as solid as it looked.
Teddy wasn’t in sight. The chandelier glowed dimmer, most of the house gone to sleep. We followed the strip of light spilling from the parlor, our joined hands the only steady point in a reality that kept shifting.
Inside, Byron and Charlie both looked up.
The older Dane had traded the mantle for one of the armchairs but hadn’t relaxed into it. He sat upright, forearms on his thighs, hands clasped like he was waiting for a verdict. Charlie stood by the window, staring out into the darkness. They both straightened when we entered.
I was very aware of Levi’s arm brushing mine. Of his damp lashes, the rawness at the edges of his mouth. The time we’d spent outside—him breaking apart in quiet, brutal pieces and letting me hold them—clung to my skin.
