A memory stirs, unwelcome and vivid: her breath against my throat, the warmth of her voice before it cut cold. Her mouth, that pink mouth of hers, wrapped hotly around my—
I wipe the thought away like blood from a blade.
“Burning the midnight oil?” I ask, stepping inside.
“Just doing my job.” Her tone is clipped, professional as she pretends that I didn’t catch her off guard again. “Unless you came to tell me I’m not allowed to do that either.”
My jaw tightens.
“I came,” I say evenly, “to ask why you’re pulling unauthorized archives.”
Her eyes flicker momentarily, but I’m quick enough to catch it.
“I’m following an anomaly,” she says. “Your system is bleeding data from sources that should be extinct. You want my job done correctly? Then don’t ask me to ignore the evidence.”
“Evidence,” I echo, stepping closer, “or curiosity?”
Her shoulders tense, but her voice stays level.
“Truth doesn’t care what you think of it.”
I circle behind her, slow, deliberate. Her posture stiffens when she feels me close enough to her that I can see the fine strands of copper hair escaping her tie, close enough to catch the clean, sharp scent of her perfume.
She’s doing this on purpose.
Or maybe I’m imagining that, or maybe I’m insane enough to want to imagine it.
“You’re digging where I didn’t authorize you to dig,” I murmur. “Restricted vaults are restricted for a reason.”
“Reasons you won’t state,” she fires back. “Which usually means they’re the wrong ones.”
My pulse kicks.
She really doesn’t fear me. Not the way she should. Not the way everyone else in this empire does.
And that makes me furious.
“You should stay in your lane,” I say, and the words come out harsher than intended. “You’re here to audit, not play detective.”
She turns around to face me fully, her eyes bright with something sharp and electric.
“Truth doesn’t belong to one man’s lane,” she says. “And if you think intimidation is going to stop me, you overestimate your influence.”
Her defiance hits me like heat.
I step closer, spinning her seat around so she faces me. Even as I’m breathing down her neck, our noses almost brushing, she doesn’t move.
Our breath mingles, the heat of her shaky exhale washing on my lower lip.
This is a mistake, I know, but I can’t step back.
“You have no idea what you’re walking into,” I say softly.
“And you have no idea what I’m capable of,” she answers, just as soft.
The air between us shifts, stretching thin, humming with a volatile current.
I should end this. I should walk out.
