Her hands tensed in her lap, then unclenched, then balled again. “You want me to follow you across the world, but I didn’t even know I’d already crossed a line here. How am I supposed to trust that you’ll be honest with me about things that are important?”
That part cracked. She didn’t want to look at him after she said it.
Because it wasn’t the alert. It wasn’t the Tier. It was the fact that he’d known. And said nothing. He’d let her walk into something he already understood like it didn’t matter that she didn’t.
He didn’t defend himself.
After a long moment, he said, “I’m sorry.”
She turned the apple piece over in her hand, like maybe there was an answer on the other side. Set it down, and stood. Her legs felt cold.
“I need to go.”
“Bea—”
She shook her head. “I just need a little time, Gage.”
He didn’t move to stop her.
And that, too, made something in her ache. Because part of her wanted him to fight her for the truth. To say it out loud: that he hadn’t told her because he was afraid she might leave.
GAGE
Gage arrived at the office just before seven. There had been no point pretending he was going to sleep more. The building was silent, windows still inked with pre-dawn haze.
He turned on the lights. Walked the length of the space and sank into the chair at the head of his desk.
Seven nights.
Not six. Not almost. Seven.
He’d known what it meant. She hadn’t.
The Social Proximity Law was an invisible system tracking how many nights a woman spent in a man’s residence in a month. It was one of the Republic’s more controversial legislations, especially abroad.
In a country with so many men, it was necessary. Not to control women; to protect them from the men who would neverstop trying to win them. It granted the men of their choice, the men theychoseto be with, provisional rights, giving a relationship time to deepen toward marriage.
He wasn’t ashamed of the law. He believed in it. The logic was sound.
But yesterday, something had fractured. Not because of the principle, but because of his execution. And that mistake had cost him something harder to quantify: her trust.
When a knock came at the door, he didn’t look up. “It’s open.”
The door pushed inward, and Nate West stepped in, black coat still on. He paused just inside.
“You’re early,” Gage said.
“So are you.”
Nate set a coffee cup on the desk. “You sleep?”
“No.” Gage tipped his chair back a fraction, then forward again, restless in a way he rarely allowed anyone to see.
“Bea?”
“Mm.”
Nate lowered into the chair across from him. “She okay?”
