“I’ve seen you behind a screen for years,” I continue, words tumbling out now. “I’ve watched you move code like a knife. But this? Tonight? The warehouse, the way you moved, the way you didn’t evenhesitatewhen you realized we were burned? That’s different.”
I take a breath.
“I spent years having a crush on the broody hacker who ignored me on Gage’s couch,” I say with a little crooked smile. “But now I’m seeing you in full knight-in-dark-hoodie mode and, uh…” I gesture loosely at my chest. “Respect levels: upgraded.”
His throat works. “Lark,” he says quietly, “you shouldn’t… put me on that kind of pedestal. I’m not?—”
“A hero?” I cut in. “Yeah, yeah. You hate that word. You’re flawed. You’re morally gray. You pirate media and break into corporate servers for fun, we get it.”
A tiny ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth despite himself.
“I’m just saying,” I add, softer, “I respect the way you carry it. The weight. The responsibility. The way you looked at me tonight when you thought I might be scared. Nobody’s ever looked at me like that before.”
His gaze sharpens. “Like what?”
“Like I’m worth protecting,” I say.
Silence hums between us.
He turns his head away, staring at some point over my shoulder. “You’ve always been worth protecting,” he says eventually. “That’s kind of the problem.”
My heart does a stupid flip.
I sink to the floor beside the coffee table, sitting cross-legged, arms draped over my knees. From here, I’m level with his shoulders, close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. The blanket has slipped, exposing the long line of his thigh, the veins in his forearm.
“Then why did you spend half my adolescence pretending I didn’t exist?” I ask, trying to keep it light.
He huffs out a breath. “Because you were Gage’s catastrophically off-limits little sister. And because you were a kid, and I was…” He trails off, jaw clenching. “Not in a place where I trusted myself to want anything good.”
The answer lands with more weight than I expected.
I tilt my head. “You want things that are good now?”
His eyes meet mine.
The air shifts.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “Too much.”
Heat licks at the base of my spine.
I wet my bottom lip.
His gaze drops.
Tracks the movement.
My pulse skitters.
Okay. Dangerous territory ahead. Proceed with caution. Or don’t. Caution’s overrated.
I pull one knee up to my chest and rest my chin on it. “Can I ask you something?”
He snorts. “Have you ever not?”
“Why do you keep fighting it?”
He doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know whatitis. “Because it’s you,” he says. “And because once I stop fighting… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop at all.”
