Nadia looks at me like I’m a problem she hasn’t decided how to solve.
It’s unsettling.
It’sdangerous.
Because it makes me feelhuman,and I don’t have time for human.
I force my focus to the pan. To the heat. To anything but her.
Because wanting? That’s the easy part.
It’s control that takes everything.
Chapter 3
Nadia
Saint’sgrilledcheesetasteslike heaven, and that feels illegal after the morning I’ve had.
He eats his own sandwich in silence, posture loose but attention never really leaving the room. Every few minutes his gaze sweeps the cabin like he’s counting exits, even though it’s just the two of us and a wood stove ticking warmth into the space.
The safe house is… nicer than I expected. Cozy, even. The air smells like wood smoke and melted cheese, and between that and the tea warming my hands, my nerves start to unclench in slow, reluctant increments.
For a long moment, we don’t talk. I pick at my sandwich, stealing glances over my mug.
Up close, he’s even more intimidating. Not pretty. Not polished. Just… arresting. A sharp jaw. A faint scar along hisleft cheekbone. Hands big enough to make a coffee mug look like a toy, veins raised over the backs, knuckles nicked like he’s spent a lifetime meeting hard things head-on. He moves with an economy that screams discipline.
Ava mentioned he was ex-military. She didn’t say much else. Or maybe she did and my brain filed it away underlater, because for the past year my life has been a rotating emergency.
I take a sip of tea to steady myself.
“So,” I say finally, because silence makes my skin itch, “Saint. That’s a nickname, right? Or were your parents really committed to the theme?”
His eyes flick to mine. Something like amusement moves across his face.
“Patch name,” he says.
“That doesn’t answer thewhy,” I say. I nod toward the small silver cross that flashes when he shifts. “The cross… I’m guessing that isn’t just an accessory.”
His gaze drops to the pendant like it weighs more than metal. He chews once, slow, like he’s deciding how much truth to hand me.
“It started in the Army,” he says.
My attention sharpens. “Okay.”
He leans back in his chair. For the first time since I met him, his eyes go somewhere that isn’t this cabin. Somewhere far away.
“It was a checkpoint,” he says. “Overseas. Convoy day. Traffic backed up for miles. Command wanted everything moving fast. We waved a lot through just to keep the line from turning into a riot.”
His jaw tightens, barely. His voice stays level.
“A minivan rolled up. Driver too calm. Woman in the passenger seat too quiet. Kids in the back staring straight ahead like they’d been trained not to exist.”
His eyes lift to mine.
“You ever see a kid try that hard to be invisible?”
My throat tightens.
