"You asked what's now," I said, stepping closer. "That's what's now."
Her breath hitched, but she didn't move.
I closed the distance between us, my hand sliding to her hip, thumb brushing the bare skin where her shirt had ridden up.
"You scared the hell out of me today," I said quietly. "You called me. Told me Victoria had been to your family's home. And all I could think about was getting to you. Making sure you were safe."
Her eyes searched mine. "Micah?—"
"And then you stood there," I continued, "in front of everyone, and said you were coming with me. To meet a woman who killed my mother. A woman who threatened your family."
My hand tightened on her hip.
"Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
She swallowed. "I had to."
"I know," I said. "And I hate it. I hate that you're in danger because of me. I hate that she knows your name. I hate that I can't lock you somewhere safe and deal with this myself."
My forehead dropped to hers.
"But more than that," I murmured, "I'm so fucking proud of you I can barely stand it."
Her hands came up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
"Micah," she whispered.
"So, yes," I said, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "Take off your clothes. Because I need you. Right now. Before we walk into whatever hell is waiting for us at midnight."
Her pupils dilated, and I saw the moment she decided.
She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion.
26
JOY
Dominion Hall went quiet in a way that felt intentional.
Not empty—never empty—but hushed, like the house itself understood what was coming and had decided to give us a pocket of stillness before midnight arrived and tore everything open again.
For a moment, Micah and I just stood there, facing each other in the wide Montana-wing suite, light slanting through tall windows and striping the floor in gold and shadow.
My heart was still racing.
From Victoria.
From my family.
From the helicopter.
From the way Micah had saidI’m proud of youlike it meant something.
I felt wrung out and wired all at once—like my body didn’t know whether it wanted to collapse or climb him.
“I don’t know what to do with myself,” I admitted quietly.
Micah stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like he was approaching something fragile. “Then don’t do anything.”
