Clare
The bed was empty when I woke.
My hand hit cold sheets where Xavier should’ve been. Panic spiked before I saw the notepad on his pillow.
Outside. Didn’t want to wake you. - X
The handwriting was steadier than yesterday. That should’ve been reassuring.
It wasn’t.
I sat up slowly. My knee throbbed, yesterday’s slip on the ice, the mad scramble away from Dresner’s kill team, all of it catching up now that adrenaline had burned off. Sunlight filtered through frost-covered windows, turning the world outside into fractured crystal.
Like the two-week deadline sitting in my chest like a stone.
The shower helped. Hot water, decent pressure, someone else’s shampoo that smelled like lavender and mint. I found clean clothes in the dresser, women’s sizes, clearly left here foremergencies like this. Black jeans that fit reasonably well. A sweater soft enough to make me sigh in relief.
Whose life was I borrowing now?
I pushed the thought away. Focused on moving. One foot in front of the other. Down the creaking stairs to the main floor.
The kitchen was empty. Coffee pot still warm. Someone had been here recently, two mugs in the sink, crumbs on the counter suggesting breakfast had already happened without me.
I poured coffee. Found bread, cheese, some kind of jam that was probably fancy and French. Made myself eat despite my stomach’s protest.
The chip. The deadline. PSI-317 flooding Xavier’s brain with chemical poison. I shoved the thoughts away. There would be time enough to think about them later.
I forced down another bite of bread. Chewed mechanically. Tasted nothing.
Outside the window, movement caught my attention. Two figures near what looked like a woodpile. One chopping. One watching.
Xavier and Havoc.
I grabbed my coffee and went to the back door.
The cold fogged my breath immediately. Frost crunched under my borrowed boots as I made my way across dead grass toward the sound of splitting timber.
Xavier saw me first. Stopped mid-swing. The axe hung in his grip, dangerous, competent, like everything else about him. He wore a thermal shirt I didn’t recognize, jeans, boots. His exhalations came in white clouds.
He looked... good. Better than he should after yesterday’s firefight and last night’s intensity.
The thought sent warmth flooding through me despite the freezing temperature.
Havoc sat on a stump nearby, blade in one hand, whittling something from a piece of cedar. He glanced up when I approached. Grinned.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Heard you had an eventful night.”
I stopped. “Excuse me?”
“The walls are thin.” His grin widened. “Very thin. And you’re very loud when...”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll remove your tongue with a rusty spoon.”
The words came out flat. Deadly serious.
Havoc laughed. Actually laughed. “I like you more every time we talk.”
Xavier’s jaw tightened. He drove the axe into the stump with more force than necessary. Came to stand beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. His hand slid to my waist and pulled me against him before I could process the movement.
