“Fine,” I said. “Yes.”
“Russia officially joined the fight in Canada. If we don’t end up in a nuclear war, it looks like Haynes is finally outnumbered. He’s already started pulling back. If that war ends, he’ll have more manpower domestically.”
I nodded, perturbed by that information.
“There has been talk of a counter-invasion into the US. You are particularly vulnerable located here so close to Canada. We’re aware your Prime Delegate has been in talks with the Canadian prime minister. She needs to establish a peace treaty with Canada, the European Union, all of them to protect?—”
“Yeah, okay. I got that.”
He nodded, then hesitated. His gaze dipped to my throat, my feet, my hands before returning to my eyes. “While Haynes is alive, the Defiance will never have more power than the NAO.” He ignored my glare. “But I think I’ve found a way for the Defiance to get to Haynes. You could end his entire cabinet.”
I blinked. “Wait. Are you serious?”
His tone dipped to a careful, almost apologetic register. “Giving this information will compromise me. Once the Defiance acts on it, I’m dead.”
“What?” I demanded. “No! We aren’t doing that.”
His eyes fluttered closed. “Sophia.”
My anger finally burst to the surface. “Don’tSophiame, Luke. You can act like you’re doomed, like I’m stupid for caring, like sleeping with me was a mistake, but I don’t care about any of that. We will not be willingly leading you to the slaughter. You’re not some sacrificial lamb.”
“I am a spy with a winning hand. If you keep that information from them, they’ll try you for obstructing the war effort.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
We stared, neither of us giving an inch. With a concise, emotionless voice, he relented. “We can discuss it later. I need more intel anyway. You got the rest of it?”
I nodded again.
“Good.” He pointed at the door. “You can leave.”
I gave him an icy stare. He lifted a single brow in response, and I was struck again by the desire to throw things at him. How could he dismiss me so easily?
Annoyed by the sharp pang of sadness, I left.
When I made it back to my bedroom, I stared at the wall and tortured myself by reliving the conversation over and over. With each replay, one detail grew hideously more apparent. His words had been laced with a thread of steel.
He wouldn’t give in.
He knew I’d begun to feel something for him. He’d admitted that he didn’t want to die, that he wanted to live forme. But it didn’t matter. He still planned to offer his life in service to this war.
His days were numbered.
Soon, I would lose him, and he’d taken away our last days together in some sort of bid for morality.
It was only then, with the certainty of his voice ringing in my ears—they will hunt me down—that I realized how deep my feelings truly dove.
I hadn’t been lying when I told him his name was carved on my heart. I wished I could remember at what point he’d taken his scalpel to it. When had he laid claim to this part of me I’d never given anyone?
Why was it so one-sided?
I fell to my knees. “Shit.” My hand pressed over the abrupt black hole in my chest.
I knew better than to get invested in anything these days, so how did this happen? With no emotional currency available, I couldn’t afford to want people this way. Caring for Lucas Scott exacted an agonizing toll on my bankrupt soul. Fierce and strange, the pain cut deep. Like grief, but worse because he wasn’t dead. Not yet. He was alive but indifferent. Warm but untouchable.Right there, but so far away.
I knew how to grieve. I was an expert at it. What I didn’t know was how to grieve for someone still alive.
22
