Boone is yelling about losing a wrench again, Levi is arguing with the stove like it insulted his mother, and the guys are in rare form—loud, restless, hyped on caffeine and Christmas spirit.
I’m half-listening, half-pretending not to exist.
Because all day, one thought has chased me like a damn ghost:
Lucy Snow almost kissed me.
Or I almost kissed her. Hard to tell. Both feel true. Either way, my brain is a mess.
And the last thing I need is her walking into the station?—
“Hi, boys!”
—like that.
I curse under my breath and spin around.
She’s standing in the doorway, holding a tin with snowflake stickers on it, wearing that red coat that makes her hair look brighter, her cheeks pinker, her smile more dangerous.
The temperature in the bay spikes ten degrees.
Boone whistles. “Well, well, if it isn’t Lieutenant Calder’s?—”
“Finish that sentence,” I bark, “and you’re on latrine duty for the rest of the month.”
He smirks. “Yes, sir.”
Lucy waves at the crew. “I brought cookies! Holiday cookies. Tested on children. Very safe.”
“Unlike her snow machine,” Levi mutters.
She beams. “That was user error.”
Boone elbows Levi. “Whose error?”
“His,” she says sweetly, pointing at me.
The guys cackle. I glare. She laughs.
And suddenly, despite everything—despite my vow to stay away, despite every line I refuse to cross—I feel my chest loosen. Just a little.
I clear my throat. “What are you doing here, Lucy?”
She lifts the cookie tin. “Bringing provisions.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what normal humans do, Ash.”
I cross my arms. “You are not normal.”
She grins. “Well, thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Sure it wasn’t.”
She brushes past me—soft perfume, warm coat, static spark on my arm—and sets the tin on the breakroom counter.
