“Hey,” I say quietly.
She looks at me, recognition settling almost immediately. No confusion. Just awareness.
“You need to head out,” I tell her, low. “Before your father’s up.”
She exhales softly, more regret than resistance in it, then nods. “I know.”
She sits up, gathering herself, and I turn away long enough to give her space. When she moves past me, the brush of her shoulder is incidental, but it still lands.
I pull on boxers and follow her out of the room.
We walk through the bunker together without speaking. She yawns and pulls her arms in. At the door, she pauses.
I disengage the lock and open the heavy door. She walks out ahead of me.
We pad through the quiet main house, my attention split between her and the space around us. We stop at the door, and she turns to face me before walking out.
I lift a hand and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, solidifying the fact that this is real and finite at the same time. My fingers linger for a second longer than they should.
“Text me when you’re home,” I say. “If anything feels off, you call me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”
Her eyes lift to mine. Something steadies there.
I lean in and kiss her. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I pull her lower back into me. God, I don’t want her to leave. But I pull back before it turns into something else.
“I will,” she says.
The office is quiet,save for the faint rattle of the airconditioning and the occasional creak of the wood floor as my chair rolls slightly beneath me when I shift.
Papers are spread across my desk, half-sorted, but my focus is nowhere near them. It hasn’t been since last night when Coco told me what Iggy saw.
Coco’s words replay in my mind.
Iggy saw men known to work for Duvall on his shipments. They were guarding the warehouse where my father was taken and ultimately tortured and killed.
The implications churn, each one heavier than the last. If Iggy is telling the truth, this isn’t speculation or inference. It’s confirmation. I may finally have my reason to stop circling and start moving.
I called Vin once Coco confirmed the meeting would happen here, but I didn’t get him. I want him to know what I find out, but if he can’t be here, I’ll relay it.
But I’m not getting ahead of myself. I’ve done enough of that lately, and it’s cost me clarity more than once. I want to hear what Iggy has to say first, then I’ll decide what it means.
I glance at the clock. Iggy is due here in thirteen minutes.
I’ve spent the better part of an hour turning this meeting over in my head, weighing whether it’s a waste of time or the next necessary step. Either way, avoiding it isn’t an option anymore. Some doors don’t stay closed once you know where they lead.
My gut tells me to stay cautious. I listen to it.
At exactly ten on the dot, there’s a knock at the door. Short. Deliberate. For a second, I expect Vin. He’s the only one who knocks like that.
But when I look up, it’s Iggy who steps inside, his shoulders squared but his eyes flicking around the room like he’s mapping exits and angles.
I immediately notice the bruise on the right side of his face, dark and angry against his skin. It drags my attention back to the other night. I did that. I don’t regret it, but I register it. I choose not to comment.
“A man of his word,” I say, leaning back in my chair. That counts for something. I gesture to the seat across from me. “On time. Have a seat.”
Iggy hesitates, then moves forward and sits stiffly, his hands resting flat on his thighs. He doesn’t look comfortable.
Good.
