I peek through my fingers. He's grinning, more relaxed than I've ever seen him, hands still working magic on my feet.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
I don't. I let my head fall back against the cushion, surrender to the sensation. His thumbs find a knot in my arch, work it loose. I bite my lip to keep from making another embarrassing sound.
Outside, the city hums with Tuesday noise. Somewhere, my coworkers are in meetings, checking emails, grinding through the day.
Here, in my tiny apartment with no fancy restaurant or expensive wine, I'm more at ease than I've ever been with him. His hands on my feet. His warmth seeping into me. Us, together, doing nothing.
I open my eyes and watch him. The concentration on his face. The careful way he works each toe, each muscle. Like I'm something worth being careful with.
“Kai.”
He looks up.
I don't have words for what I want to say. So I sit up, swing my legs off his lap, lean into him. My head finds the curve of his shoulder. His arm comes around me, easy as breathing.
We stay like that, the show playing forgotten in the background. His hand tracing slow circles on my arm.
“I don't want this day to end,” I murmur.
He presses his chin to the top of my head, arm tightening around me.
“Neither do I.”
CHAPTER 19
THE PLAN
KAIDEN
Each headline is a fresh wound.
ELK FOUNDERS' PET PROJECT NEARLY KILLS CHILDREN. PARENTS DEMAND ANSWERS.
I stare at the screen, jaw clenched. The article is a masterpiece of sensationalist garbage. Quotes from concerned parents who were nowhere near Ravenwood. A photo of the blackened wing that makes the school look like a war zone. My name plastered across every paragraph like I'd personally struck the match.
My phone vibrates. Logan.
“You seeing this?”
“I am.” I scroll through the notifications. The stories are everywhere. “How bad is the exposure?”
“Total. News van outside the office. Two more at the research lab.”
I move to the window. A cluster of cameras and reporters crowds the sidewalk three stories below. One of them spotsmovement behind the glass and points. The zoom lens swings toward me. I pull the curtains shut.
“Get Ethan and Maddox. My place. Now.”
An hour later, we're gathered in my living room. The TV is muted on a morning talk show where a woman dabs at her eyes with a tissue. The caption readsher daughter could have diedwhile she speaks out about adangerous experiment.
“She wasn't even enrolled in the pilot program,” Maddox mutters, not looking up from his laptop. “Her kid goes to a school three districts over.”
“Doesn't matter.” Logan shakes his head. “The story's out. People believe what they see on the screen, not what happened.”
Ethan leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Who's feeding this? The fire was two days ago. This kind of coordinated media blitz doesn't happen organically.”
