"Of course,husband. We absolutely should…"
Then I slide the book across the table toward him.
His expression collapses into mock tragedy. He slumps into the chair with an exaggerated sigh. "One day you'll regret playing with my emotions like this." Then adds, "And now you can't say I've misbehaved. Look at me, all studious and bookish."
"Mm," I murmur over the page. "You're always misbehaving."
His grin sharpens, wicked. "And you still married me."
I can't help the reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah. I did."
And somehow, in spite of everything—the siege, the waiting, the war looming on the horizon—saying it feels like a choice well made.
Two hours. Two more coffees. The walls still feel too close when I hear tires crunching over gravel.
"A short meeting," Kayden mutters.
Then a shout from outside: "Sage! I come in peace!"
My stomach twists. Not Asher.
"Johnny."
Kayden's eyes narrow, predator sharp. We both crowd the barred window. One car. Johnny stands at the barrier line, palms lifted. Papers in one hand.
Kayden's voice drops low, hungry. "Well, look at that. A snack volunteering." His fangs lengthen.
I catch his arm. "No."
He turns on me, irritation flaring hot.
"He didn't come to fight. We don't harm a messenger."
Kayden rolls his eyes, muttering, "The way I see it, that's one less bastard on their side."
I glare. "Kayden. No. He came with a message, and he's… different. One of the good ones. Let me talk to him."
His jaw flexes. Teeth grind. "What if it's a trap?"
"The barrier's here. I'll be careful. Let me do this. Alone."
He stares, fighting himself. Finally spits, "Fine."
"Promise me you won't do anything reckless," I add, narrowing my eyes.
The silence stretches. His whole body is a taut line of defiance until he exhales, loud and theatrical.
"All right. I promise. For you.This time. But that guy—" he points toward the window, voice rough, "—I remember him. He was in that container. Don't sell me thegood onecrap. He doesn't make the list."
I squeeze his arm softly. "Thank you."
It's the best I'll get. Considering he married one of those "container people"—me—it's already more than I deserve.
I inhale deep, steady myself, and step out the door.
Fresh air hits like a slap, cool and clean, but my heart hammers as I walk toward the ward line. Trap or not, this could go badly.
Johnny waits, arms still raised, eyes darting between me and the house, reading the threat level.
