Through the reinforced glass, I can see Nate lying in the scanner—a massive cylindrical machine that looks like an MRI machine on steroids. He’s completely still, eyes closed, and if I didn’t know better I’d think he was sleeping. But I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands are curled into loose fists at his sides.
I can tell he hates this. Being examined. Being studied. Being treated like a specimen instead of a person.
The door opens behind me and my father slips in, two mugs of tea in hand he’s brought in from his office. He offers one to me and I take it, more for the warmth than any desire to drink.
“The initial scans are running,” he says, settling into the chair beside mine. “Should have preliminary results in about an hour.”
“What do you think you’ll find?” I ask.
He gives me a quick smile. “A scientific breakthrough is all a scientist can really hope for.”
We sit in silence for a moment, watching Nate through the glass. The scanner hums. The monitors flicker with data I can’t interpret, but they seem to be measuring him in every which way.
“He cares about you,” my father says quietly. “It’s obvious, the way he looks at you. All you’ve gone through.”
I don’t answer. I’m not sure what to say, because I know he does care about me. Just anything beyond that is where it gets murky.
“And you?” He turns slightly, studying my profile the way he used to when I was a teenager and he was trying to figure out what I was hiding. “Do you care about him?”
“It’s complicated.” Just fucking stamp that shit on my forehead.
“Isn’t it always, though?”
I take a sip of tea. It’s too hot and it burns my tongue, but I welcome the distraction.
“He’s not what I expected,” I finally say. “When I took the mission, I thought—I thought he’d be like any other target.” I watch Nate’s chest rise and fall, steady and slow. “But he’s not. He’s broken. Like me. And somehow that just made everything worse.”
“Because you understand each other.”
“Yeah, I guess so. So few people do.”
My father is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, more hesitant.
“Do you love him?”
The question hits me hard. I’ve been avoiding it for weeks, dancing around the edges, telling myself that whatever I feel for Nate is just proximity and trauma and the strange intimacy of two people who’ve seen each other at their worst. What are we if not two monsters, two killers, two dark souls looking for the light.
But sitting here now, watching him lie vulnerable in that machine, trusting my father to help him when he has every reason not to trust anyone?—
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I thought I knew. I thought I had it figured out. And then he…and everything I thought I knew just…” I make a gesture, helpless. “Shattered.”
“Love has a way of doing that.”
I shake my head. “Hell, I don’t even know what love is. It doesn’t feel like I thought it would. It feels like drowning. Like willingly drowning.”
He chuckles. “That’s exactly what it feels like.” His voice is gentle now, almost wistful. “Your mother and I—when we first met, I thought I’d never survive her. She was so fierce, so brilliant. Being near her felt like standing too close to a fire. Or being held underwater.” He pauses. “And then I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”
I don’t want to talk about my mother. The grief is too old and too deep, buried under years of scar tissue that I’m not ready to pick at. I’m not really ready to talk to him about anything. It feels so odd to sit here with him, sipping tea, when there’s so much between us that we haven’t really faced, so much time that has passed and increased the distance.
“Erasmia.” My father reaches over and touches my hand, just briefly. “Whatever happens, whatever you decide about him—I want you to know that I’m proud of you.”
I look at him sharply. “Proud? For what, exactly? Falling for my target? Compromising my mission? Getting captured and tortured?”
“Proud of you for surviving. For becoming the woman you are.” His eyes are bright behind his glasses, and I realize with a terrible start that he’s close to tears. “I know I wasn’t—I know I failed you in so many ways. After your mother died, after we came here, I buried myself in work and left you to raise yourself.I told myself I was protecting you, but really I was just hiding. From the grief. From the guilt. From everything I’d done.”
“Dad—”
“Let me finish, please.” He takes a breath, steadying himself. “You had every right to hate me. To cut me out of your life the way you did. But you didn’t let it destroy you. You took all that pain and you made something of yourself. SOE, the missions, the work you do—you’re making a difference, Mia. A real difference. And I’m so bloody proud of you I can barely stand it.”
