"Our version of one, maybe." He opened my door for me, ever the gentleman despite everything. "Most couples don't discuss arterial spray patterns over produce, but we're not most couples."
"We're not any kind of couple." But I got in the car, arranging my skirt carefully. "We're just two damaged things sharing space."
"If you say so." He started the engine. "Your place or mine?"
"Mine. I need to check my wall, see if any new intel came in." I fidgeted with my seatbelt. "You could stay. If you want. The couch is lumpy but—"
"Bunny." He glanced at me. "I'd like to stay. You don't have to justify it."
"I do, though. Everything needs justification. Purpose. Daddy said actions without purpose were just chaos, and chaos was—"
"Weakness. Yes, you've mentioned." His hand found mine on the center console. "What if some things could just be? No purpose beyond the moment?"
"That's terrifying."
"I know." He squeezed gently. "But maybe terrifying isn't always bad."
I thought about that as we drove, city lights blurring past. This whole thing was terrifying—Nathan, partnership, wanting things I couldn't name. But Carter's death hadn't been terrifying, just necessary. Every death before had just been necessary. The Volkovs wouldn't be terrifying, just work.
Maybe he was right. Maybe terrifying was where the real things lived.
Back at my apartment, we unloaded groceries like the domestic scene we'd never be. Nathan insisted on cooking while I updated my murder wall with his morning intel. The normalcy of it all felt surreal, like playing house in a horror movie.
"Food's ready," he called.
I found him plating something that smelled incredible—actual food on actual plates like actual people. My kitchen table had never been used for eating before. The disconnect made me dizzy.
"Sit," he said gently. "Eat. The wall will still be there after."
I sat, smoothing my dress, trying to remember how normal people did this. The first bite made me moan—flavor and texture and warmth, so different from protein bars and violence.
"Good?"
"It's..." I searched for words. "I'd forgotten food could be enjoyable. Not just fuel."
"There's a lot of things you've forgotten could be enjoyable." He watched me eat with quiet satisfaction. "We'll work on that."
"After Tuesday."
"During Tuesday too. Joy and violence aren't mutually exclusive. You already know that." He gestured to my dress. "You wouldn't wear yellow to plan murders if some part of you didn't find beauty in the contrast."
"Daddy chose my aesthetic. Said good girls always look presentable"
"But you kept it. After. That was your choice."
I considered this. "I... like the way it feels. The soft fabrics, the careful presentation. It's armor, but pretty armor."
"It suits you. The contradiction."
We ate in companionable silence, two killers pretending at domesticity. Afterward, Nathan insisted on washing dishes while I refined our Tuesday timeline. He had good notes, clean observations that meshed well with my more intuitive leaps.
"There." I added the final string to connect our plan. "Dmitri goes down first, during his smoke break. Then we have seven minutes before the next patrol to get inside and positioned."
"Six minutes. Better to underestimate." He dried his hands, joining me at the wall. "Your stance work—how clean can you keep it?"
"Silent until the moment I want them to know. Daddy was very thorough about sound discipline." I demonstrated, moving across my apartment floor without a whisper despite my Mary Janes. "The dresses actually help. People listen for heavy footfalls, not delicate steps."
"Useful." He watched me move with professional appreciation. "Your hand-to-hand?"
