Yuri looks up from his screen. "I just tried accessing HeartSync again. The entire platform is gone. Scrubbed clean."
"After almost killing Fee and your men, these people are offering peace and paying for damages, and you're just okay with this?" I ask.
Connor's eyes stay solid. "They also noticed Fiona hacked into their system."
Patrick leans in more. "They're willing to meet with us, in our territory, under our conditions. That's not the behavior of people planning more violence."
"And once this is resolved, my daughter comes home." Connor's tone carries the tone of finality.
I study both Quinns across the mahogany table. Connor maintains that steady green-eyed stare Fee inherited, though hers burns brighter.
"With respect, Connor, Fee stays where she is until I've personally verified every aspect of this peace agreement. You're accepting their word, but I need more than that before I let my guard down."
"Your guard down?" Patrick's tone sharpens. "She's not your responsibility, Baev."
"She became my responsibility the moment someone tried to kill her on my watch." I lean forward slightly. "I'm not questioning your judgment. I'm saying I need to complete my own assessment before any changes are made to her security situation."
Connor's jaw tightens, but he nods slowly. "Baev, understand, when this is cleared, she comes home. That's not negotiable."
Starting a war with her family won't protect her. These men love Fee in their own way.
"We'll be in touch within twenty-four hours." Connor stands, extending his hand.
The ritual of business concludes with handshakes and measured nods. But as we climb back to street level, something cold settles in my chest.
"You don't trust it," Yuri says.
"I don't trust anything that comes gift-wrapped."
The elevator opens into my foyer. The last traces of twilight fade beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, darkness claiming the skyline.
Then I see them.
White roses. Two dozen perfect blooms arranged in crystal, sitting on my dining table like ghosts made flesh.
My feet turn to concrete. The air thins in my lungs.
Fee sits at the table. She's changed into jeans and a soft blouse. Her head is turned away from me, gaze fixed on the darkened city beyond the windows. Both hands rest in her lap, holding something I can't see.
Her shoulders are too still—the kind of stillness that comes from holding your breath, from trying not to break.
"I'm sorry." Her voice comes out carefully controlled. She still won't look at me. "I opened the card thinking they were for me."
The words hit like a blow to my chest.
Of course she would think that. Any woman would expect flowers after what we shared, after I took something precious she can never give again.
She gestures toward the roses with forced casualness. "One of your guards just brought them up, like not even five minutes ago."
The standing order that delivered white roses every two weeks, just as Katya loved.
"Fee."
She finally turns to face me, extending the card. When I don't immediately take it, she sets it on the table between us like it burns her fingers.
"You don't have to explain. I understand."
But she doesn't. And the careful way she's holding herself together makes everything worse.
