“I know what your job is,” she continued. “I know what it costs you to hold that seat. Iknow you don’t get to decide when the rules apply and when they don’t. I’m not asking you to abandon your responsibilities or pretend the breach didn’t happen.”
“Then what the hell are you asking, Sera?” Frustration ripped throughthe question.
She took a breath, steadying herself. “I’m asking you to understand what it feels like to stand here and realize that none of that includes me.”She met his eyes fully now. “You keep telling me what you have to do. What the role requires. What the family demands. And I’m listening. Iam. But every word of it tells me the same thing. That I only factor into the equation because I’m a variable you have to manage.”
She shook her head once, slow and calm. “You say you don’t think I was involved. But that doesn’t protect me from what comes next. Because belief, to you, only matters after the proof lines up.”
Alaric stood rigid, the stillness around him tightening into something harder. When he spoke, his voice was low, every word placed.”I don’t need proof to know you didn’t do this,” he said. “I need proof to stop it from happening again.”
“Of course, but—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand, then took a breath, as if forcing himself to stay in his position as Underboss. “Someone erased that file because it mattered. Because it was leverage. Because it was dangerous. If I ignore the how, Ileave the door open for whoever did it to use the same path again. And next time, it won’t be datathey reach for.”
She shook her head in confusion. “Then what?”
“It’ll be you.” He allowed the shock of that to sink in, his eyes never leaving hers. “Belief doesn’t close attack vectors. Understanding does.”
The words were brutal. Not cruel. Not dismissive. Final in the way only obligation couldbe.
Her voice stayed even, but something in her chest ached sharply. “I don’t need you to stop investigating. Idon’t need you to stop asking questions. Ineed you to understand what your investigation makes me.”She held his gaze, refusing to let him retreat into abstraction. “Right now, I’m not someone you stand beside. I’m something you manage. Something you bracket and monitor and decide about later once Magnus offers you proof.”
For the first time, anger flared. “That’s bullshit, Sera.”
Her throat tightened, but she kept going. “You keep saying this is about protecting me. But protection that depends on whether I pass your thresholds isn’t protection at all. It’s conditional.”She let that land, let the implication sharpen. “And if I fail those conditions—even by accident—thenwhat am I to you?”
Alaric didn’t answer immediately.Not because he hadn’t heard her.Because he had.He stiffened as if he were restraining something more volatile than anger. When he spoke, his voice was careful, but there was steel underneath it now.”It means I don’t let you become the price,” he said. “It means I absorb the risk before it reaches you.”
She watched him closely. Heard what he said. Heard what he didn’t.She paused, choosing her words with care. “So, if the truth clears me, then I’m safe. If it doesn’t, then what? I’m collateral damage in a process you’ve already decided you can live with?”
His gaze didn’t drop. If anything, it hardened.”No,” he said flatly. “You’re not collateral.”
“Then what am I?” she pressed.Silence stretched. Not empty. Measured.The room became tighter now. Smaller.”That’s the part you won’t look at,” she said. “Not the evidence. The cost.”
Alaric exhaled slowly through his nose, asound that carried restraint rather than release.”The cost is mine,” he said. “It has always been mine.”
Her eyes flickered at that, just once.”And I asked you this before,” she said, very quietly. “And you never answered. Do youplan to erase me if you don’t like some tiny piece of what Magnus finds?”
“You want to know what I’ll do?”
The words were barely out of his mouth before he moved.
Alaric stalked toward her, every step controlled, the kind of motion that didn’t rush because it didn’t need to. His presence filled the space between them, compressed it, left no room for distance or retreat. His light blue eyes were blazing now, stripped of calculation, stripped of role, burning with something unmistakable.
Before she could speak, before she could brace herself, he caughther.
One arm locked around her back, hauling her against him. The other slid into her hair, fingers tightening just enough to hold, not hurt. His mouth came down on hers with a force that stole her breath. Not gentle, not careful, but urgent, desperate, claiming.
She fought him.
Her hands shoved against his chest, nails biting into muscle, her body straining back even as his strength held her there. She turned her face, broke the seal of his mouth, pushed again, every part of her screaming that this was wrong, that he couldn’t take thisfrom her when he wouldn’t give her what she needed. Then he took her mouth again.
Seconds stretched. Endless. Burning.
Slowly, her resistance faltered.
Her hands slid, not away but closer. Her breath hitched. The fight drained out of her in a rush, acombination of surrender and betrayal all at once. She melted into him despite herself, despite the ache still lodged in her chest, and kissed him back with a hunger that matched his—long and deep, acollision of need and frustration and everything they were refusing tosay.
For a moment, nothing existed but the kiss. The heat of his body. The grip in her hair. The way his mouth softened even as it demanded.
