My pulse thrums. I hate being talked about like I’m a package.
“Crewe,” I say carefully, “it’s okay. Lyle’s?—”
His eyes snap to mine. Not angry. Just… firm. Protective in a way that makes my chest warm and twist at the same time.
“Major Chen wants an update,” Crewe says, and his phone buzzes in his hand like it’s answering him. He checks the screen. “That’s her.”
He looks at me. “Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right outside the door.”
I nod automatically, because when Crewe Hawthorne tells you to do something, your body tends to comply before your brain can argue.
He steps into the hallway, phone to his ear, shoulders filling the doorway for a second before he turns away.
And the second he does?—
Hammond’s hand closes around my elbow.
Not gentle.
Not paternal.
Firm.
My breath catches.
“Lyle?” I whisper, confused.
His eyes lock onto mine, and in that instant, something drops away from his face. The worry doesn’t vanish, exactly—but it sharpens into something else.
Urgency.
Cold calculation.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
My blood turns to ice.
“What—”
“Quiet,” he murmurs, and his other hand lifts something toward my side—small, quick.
I flinch hard, trying to jerk away, but my body suddenly feels… wrong. Heavy. Like my muscles have to push through molasses.
Oh my God.
My legs wobble.
My heart thunders.
“What did you—” My voice slurs.
Hammond’s grip tightens. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, and this time it sounds like he means it. “But you’re worth too much to leave here.”
Panic explodes in my chest. I try to scream?—
But the air doesn’t come right.
The room tilts.
