“Good news,” she says. “We won’t starve. Bad news? Cole buys like a divorced prepper. We’ve got canned beans, canned soup, canned chili, and—wait for it—canned bread. Who cans bread?”
“Maddox’s security specialists.”
“Yeah, now it makes sense.”
She pops open a pack of instant ramen like she’s discovered gold. “We feast.”
I move past her to the counter, putting a little more distance between us than is strictly necessary. “We keep lights low after dark. No loud music, no visible activity from outside. We don’t know how many people saw that bounty posting, so we assume worst-case scenario.”
“Which is…?”
“They’re already looking.”
She’s quiet for a beat.
When I glance over, her expression has shifted. Not scared. But… serious. Softer around the edges. “Hey,” I say, testing the waters, “you good?”
She exhales. “Define good.”
“Lark.”
She fiddles with the ramen packet edge. “I mean… I’m great, obviously. On the run with my favorite morally flexible nerd, hiding in a murder cabin, hunted by faceless criminals who want to kill us or sell us to the highest bidder. It’s like my Pinterest board came to life.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
Her flippancy is a shield.
I recognize it because I live behind one too.
I turn fully toward her. “Are you scared?”
She starts to say something sarcastic. I can see it on her lips. Then she exhales instead. “A little,” she admits. “Not of them.” She flicks her gaze toward the window. “Just… of what it means.”
“What what means?”
She gestures vaguely between us. “You. Me. This. It was supposed to be fun. Hacks and bats and pissing you off. Now there’s a number attached to our faces in some sick bounty market and you look like you’re already planning my funeral.”
“I’m not,” I say, more sharply than I intend. “I’m planning how to make sure you never need one.”
Something in her eyes flickers.
I step closer before I think better of it. “We’ll handle this,” I say quietly. “We always do. You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”
Her throat bobs. “Yeah, but… what if they get to you? I’m not… I’m not joking about the fear, Knight. I know I act like I don’t care about anything, but I do. And I—” She cuts herself off, eyes darting away.
The instinct to touch her hits me so hard it almost knocks me back.
I give in to exactly one fraction of it.
I rest my hand on her shoulder.
Her skin is warm. My palm is too big and clumsy and I feel like I’m holding a live wire.
She looks up at me.
There’s no joke there now. No teasing. Just open, raw worry.
