As soon as the door shuts, Riley exhales.
“That was Lyle,” she says, as if I didn’t feel his presence the second he walked in. “He’s… he’s always looked out for me.”
“I can see that.”
She studies me, eyes searching. “You didn’t let me answer.”
“No.”
Her brows lift. “You think he’s involved?”
“I think I don’t trust anyone who isn’t you,” I say simply.
A flicker of something warm moves over her face—surprise, maybe. Or something softer.
Then she looks away, because this isn’t the time to melt into anything.
We’re standing in a broken room with enemies we can’t see.
I pull my phone out and text the brothers’ thread.
ME:lab got ransacked. not a random break-in. they’re after Willow’s program. MPs got nothing.
It lights up instantly.
MACK:names.
SIN:any security footage?
BANKS:is she okay??
JACE:you need backup?
COLT:keep her off-grid. treat everyone as a suspect until proven otherwise.
I don’t answer yet. My eyes are on Riley as she carefully picks up a ruined notebook, fingertips brushing the bent cover like it’s a wounded animal.
She looks small for the first time since I met her.
That doesn’t sit right with me.
My phone buzzes again.
Not a text.
A call.
Nash.
I answer. “What’s up?”
“Crewe,” Nash says, voice tighter than usual. Less joking. More serious. “You got a minute?”
“Make it quick.”
There’s a pause. Then: “I took a job.”
I frown. “What kind of job?”
