I tip my head up, press a quick kiss to his mouth—gentle, sweet, a promise. “Then at least pretend to rest.”
He kisses my forehead again. “Yes, ma’am.”
I smile into his chest, eyes closing.
Outside, the world is a mystery.
Inside, Crewe holds me like he’s built for this too.
And I drift off thinking one impossible thought that scares me more than any threat:
I’m not just falling into danger.
I might be falling for him.
ELEVEN
CREWE
I wake up before the sun.
Habit. Training. The kind of wiring that doesn’t shut off just because I’m warm and there’s a woman tucked against my chest like she belongs there.
Riley is curled on her side, facing me, her soft-brown hair spilled across my arm. Her mouth is slightly parted in sleep, lashes resting on her cheeks.
My hand flexes at her waist, careful not to wake her. I don’t want to move.
I also don’t trust peace.
I slide out of bed slowly.
Riley makes a small sound—more protest than wakefulness—and my chest tightens like I’ve done something wrong. I pause, watching her. She doesn’t wake. She just burrows into the pillow, pulling the blanket closer like she’s chasing heat I left behind.
I stand there for a beat longer than necessary.
Then I grab my phone and step into the kitchen area.
The fire has burned down to coals. The cabin is cold at the edges. I check the cameras out of reflex—snow, trees, empty road, nothing moving.
Good.
My phone buzzes with unread messages from the brothers’ thread, but there’s only one person I want right now.
I hit Nash’s name and call.
It rings once.
Twice.
He answers like he’s been waiting.
“Crewe.”
His voice is low. Controlled. Awake.
“Talk,” I say, quieter than I mean to be.
Nash exhales. “You alone?”
