—and then Nathaniel strolls in.
He’s wearing all black. Calm as a funeral procession. A slim backpack slung over one shoulder like he’s either going hiking or disposing of a body, which with him, could genuinely swing either direction.
“Have you told her yet?” he asks, looking directly at Cassian.
Cassian exhales. The knife pauses mid-slice, blade resting against the cutting board. His eyes flick up to Nathaniel’s.
“Not yet.”
I push myself upright. “Told me what?”
Nathaniel drops the canvas bag he’s been holding onto the counter.
You see, for days now, I’ve been catching them exchanging glances—those half-second looks when they thought I wasn’t watching. I told myself it was nothing. That they were still adjusting to…us. To the strange, fragile thing we’ve become. Or maybe the looks were about something in their pasts. Trauma. Secrets. Men like them have enough of both.
But the way Nathaniel’s gaze hardens now, it hits me:
They were hiding something from me.
“What is it?” I ask.
Cassian wipes the blade with a dish towel and sets it down. Then, he turns.
“We have a surprise for you.”
It takes only those six words to turn my bloodstream cold.
Because they are not ‘surprise’ people. There’s no confetti with them. No balloons. No laughter bursting out of a closet followed by a camera flash. Their brand of “surprise” is made of blood and consequences.
The last time someone “surprised” me, I found out the universe is about to be crawling with more wraiths. Before that, the surprise involved my bones being carved up. And beforethat…I was “gifted” to a monster with a bow on top, courtesyof my loving ex-husband, whose present to me was my later execution.
So no. Surprise is not a word that stirs delight in my nervous system.
“What kind of surprise.” My voice is flat.
I stare between them, jaw tight, waiting for the trap to appear.
It was so nice between us.Sonice.
Why do they ruin it?
Nathaniel is the first to move. He drags the zipper of the backpack down in one slow, deliberate pull. Paper. Folders. Thick stacks, corner tabs, legal notations. A flash drive. Another binder. He takes them and lays them down in front of me on the table.
My skin prickles.
I’m only more confused.
“Mark,” Nathaniel says, plainly.
The name makes my chest tighten.
Mark.
“We’ve been gathering intel,” Cassian says. “It started when you were out for three days. Since then, someone’s been on it whenever they could. When you were… otherwise occupied.”
Otherwise occupied. My face heats. Am I hearing this right? All those nights when my hands weren’t empty, they were working onMark?
“What do you mean by that?” I whisper.
