"You find a new purpose." He cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Or you learn to be something besides a weapon. Either way, you'll figure it out."
"Will you be there? After?"
The question hung between us, heavy with implications neither of us were ready to address. What were we without the hunt? Without the shared mission? Without violence as foreplay?
"If you want me to be," he said finally.
"I do." The admission felt dangerous. Like handing him ammunition. But we were past playing it safe. "Whatever this is... I want to see what it looks like without Gabriel's shadow."
"Then we'll find out together."
He kissed me again, sealing the promise. It wasn't love—we were both too damaged for that word, even if he had already said it, I knew the truth. But it was something. Partnership. Understanding. A mutual recognition that we were better broken together than broken alone.
We finished showering and dressed in comfortable clothes. Nathan ordered Chinese from the place next door while I spread our intelligence on the bed. Three properties in Boston. Three possible locations where Gabriel might be rebuilding his empire.
"We hit them in order of likelihood," I said, tracing routes on the map. "Quick reconnaissance first. Confirm presence before engagement."
"And if he's there?"
I looked up at him. "Then I show him what his pet became."
Nathan handed me a container of lo mein. "Eat first. Kill tomorrow."
Such a simple philosophy, but it worked. I forced down food, tasting nothing but needing the fuel. Tomorrow would require energy. Focus. The ability to push past whatever conditioning tried to surface.
"You know it'll be worse when we're close," I said. "My responses. The programming. Being in the same room with him..."
"I know."
"I might not be able to fight it. Might respond to him instead of you."
"Then I'll remind you who you belong to now." His voice was steady. Certain. "Whatever it takes, I'll bring you back."
I believed him. Had to believe him. The alternative—losing myself to Gabriel's programming again—was unbearable.
We spent the next hour reviewing plans, backup strategies, contingencies. Professional work that helped settle my nerves. This was what we were good at. The hunt. The preparation. The careful violence of our trade.
By the time we crawled into bed, the rain had become a storm. Lightning illuminated the room in stark flashes, throwing our shadows on water-stained walls.
"Sleep," Nathan ordered, pulling me against him. "Long day tomorrow."
But I couldn't. Not yet. "What if we're wrong? What if the trail's cold and he's already gone?"
"Then we keep hunting."
"What if we never find him?"
"We will."
"What if—"
"Bunny." He turned me to face him. "Stop. Whatever happens tomorrow, we'll handle it. Together. Now sleep."
I pressed my face against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. Gunpowder and cheap soap and something uniquely Nathan. Not home—I didn't know what home meant anymore—but safe. As safe as people like us could be.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For earlier. For understanding what I needed."
"Always." His arms tightened around me. "Whatever you need to keep going. To stay yours instead of his."
