He checked everything. Corners. Windows. The balcony latch. The bathroom. The hall closet. Even beneath the furniture.
He didn’t say her name. He didn’t ask if she was hurt. He didn’t reassure her.
Not yet.
He was in that mode where nothing existed but the environment, the angles, and the possible entry points. And she understood, intellectually, that this was how he kept people alive.
But as she watched him pace through the destruction—her life overturned, her things strewn and gutted—something inside her caved a little. Because she wanted him. Not the soldier. Not the operative.Him.
Someone to hold her before he held the situation together. She swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around her middle to keep her hands from shaking.
When he finally returned to her side, he wasn’t distant, exactly—just stoic. Like he was holding the whole apartment up with the tension in his spine. His eyes swept her face, lingering long enough that she felt seen in a way that made her breath catch, then flicked over the wreckage again, sharper this time.
“Are you okay?”
Her arms wrapped around herself. “I hate that they were here.”
“I know.”
“I feel...violated. Exposed. Like they turnedmeinside out, not just—” She broke off, unable to finish.
Something in his expression cracked, so fast she might have imagined it.
He stepped closer, shoulders dropping a fraction, as if bracing for impact.
“Norah.”
His hands hovered—just inches from her arms, suspended in indecision. A hesitation. A breath. A question he didn’t voice, one she answered simply by not stepping back. And then he pulled her in.
Not roughly. Not possessively. Just...solidly. Steadily. As if he’d been standing there this whole time simply waiting for the time to be the thing she could finally collapse against.
She didn’tmeanto fold into him.
But the moment his chest touched her cheek, her body stopped pretending it was fine. Her breath shuddered out of her before she could trap it. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, clutching hard—anchoring herself in him like he was the only stable thing in a room that had been ripped apart.
Norah shut her eyes. Near tears, near collapsing, near something she hadn’t let herself feel since the night she told him to leave. Because this wasn’t the safe, analytic distance she liked to live in. This was warmth. And comfort. And the terrifying, undeniable realization that part of her had been waiting for these arms—for his steadiness—for far longer than she wanted to admit.
His chin lowered until it rested against the crown of her head, his breath warm and unsteady where it skimmed her hairline. She felt him exhale too. A soft, barely-there tremor against her hair. Something closer to relief. Likehaving her here—alive, in his arms—was the only thing holding him together. She had the faint, impossible sense he’d been holding himself rigid for hours. Maybe years.
“I’m going to keep you safe,” he murmured. Low. Certain. Like a vow spoken into her bones.
The words struck hard. Not because she actually believed them, but because part of herwantedto. The room was still wrecked, her life still gutted open, the threat still real. Nothing about this night was safe, and yet...
And yet, for a heartbeat, wrapped in him, shecouldalmost imagine it.
Her laugh splintered. “You can’t promise that.” No one could. Not with the Syndicate. Not with the files she’d uncovered. Not with someone walking into her home like it belonged to them.
His arms tightened. “I just did.”
No hesitation. No qualifiers. He said it with the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly what he’d burn to keep her alive. His heartbeat pressed steady beneath her cheek, a solid rhythm coaxing hers back into place, grounding her in a way that made her throat ache. And for the first time in years, Norah stopped fighting the instinct to lean away.
She let herself rest. Just for a moment. Just long enough to breathe without shaking.
When she finally stepped back, she wiped her cheek and kept her voice even. “Why would they take the notebook?”
“Because you were getting close,” he said. “Close enough to make someone nervous.”
She drew in a tight breath. “I don’t want to panic.”
