But what rattles me most is the flash of heat in my chest that whispers I could.
I could do it.
I could behis.
And that I want to be terrifies me more than the threat outside.
Jagger
Sunlight cuts through the blinds, dragging me awake.
Adena's beside me, still asleep.One arm tucked under the pillow, dark hair spread across the sheets in waves that catch the morning light.The ring glints on her finger where her hand rests between us.
Pressure settles behind my ribs at the sight.
I slip out of bed without waking her, bare feet hitting the cool hardwood as I pad to the kitchen.My phone's already lit up on the counter—text from Paco.
Warehouse.10 A.M.Don't be late.
The coffee maker gurgles to life, filling the apartment with the smell of dark roast.While it brews, I move to the kitchen table where her work from last night is spread out—the original Bible and her copy side by side, surrounded by bottles of ink, brushes, scraps of aged paper.
I pick up the forgery, turn it over in my hands.The binding feels worn, authentic.The paper has weight and texture—nothing like fresh stock.The ink has that faded quality, like it's been sitting in someone's attic for decades, slowly yellowing with time.
Perfect, just like everything she does.
I set it down next to the original and stare at both of them.Can't tell which is which without checking my memory of where I put them.The craftsmanship is flawless.
She can forge anything, make the fake so convincing you'd swear it was real.
Real and counterfeit.Truth and performance.
"Coffee."
At her voice, I turn and find her in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, hair messed from sleep, still in the oversized T-shirt she wore to bed.Her eyes are heavy-lidded, unfocused.The ring catches light as she lifts a hand to push hair out of her face.
I pour her a mug, add the cream she likes."What time did you finish working on this?"
She accepts the coffee, wraps both hands around it."It's not finished.Won't be finished until I source the right binding materials and age the whole thing properly.Maybe another six months."
"Right."
I tip my coffee to my lips, eyes on her as she takes that first sip."I need to exercise.I'm starting to feel like a slug."
I cover a smile."We can hit the gym if you want."
Her eyes meet mine over the rim of her mug."Whose gym?"
"Valentina's a part owner."
Probably another business she can wash money through.
Adena doesn't look thrilled, but she just shrugs."Fine.I'll go get changed."
She disappears into the bedroom, taking her coffee with her.
While I sip my coffee, I look over the table again.Notice what I missed before—rejected pages scattered across the surface.Several of them.Practice attempts, maybe.
I pick up the first one, scanning the text.Most of the words gloss over me—names and places I don't recognize—until I notice a small pencil mark in the margin.Faint.Easy to miss unless you're looking.
