Regret.
I kill it before it can become a problem.
“You’re lying,” she says at last, voice frayed, eyes bright. “Youhaveto be. Owen wouldn’t have—he wouldn’t have done that. Hecouldn’thave. He wouldn’t have sold you to anyone. He wouldn’t have risked—” Her voice cracks. “He wouldn’t have riskedme.”
That last line lands like a blade and stays there.
I say nothing. Because that’s the only part of this I can’t swear against.
Maybe he didn’t think it would touch her. Or he thought he could handle it himself. Maybe he thought he’d walk away with cash and live long enough to drag her out of whatever hole they’d been surviving in.
Maybe… maybe not.
“I am sure of his guilt,” I tell her, and it sounds almost steady. “I watched men die to prove it.”
She lifts her head, gaze still defiant. “And I am sure of his innocence.”
We just stare at each other across that line. That’s the moment I understand the shape of where this is going.
Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But soon.
Because I’ve built an empire on certainty. On facts. Onproof.
And this girl just sat on my bed, in my house, looked me in the eye, and told me she believes I’m wrong. Not that I’m cruel. Not that I’m a monster. Not that I’m unforgivable.
Wrong.
It irritates me more than it should. It intrigues me even more. It makes a thread of heat curl low in my spine in a way that has nothing to do with anger.
“My disobedience,” I say quietly, almost to myself.
Her eyes flicker. “Don’t call me that.”
“I just did.”
“Don’t—”
“Ember.” Her mouth snaps shut. I let her name sit between us for a beat. I like the way it tastes in my mouth. Rich. Defiant. A little sweet. “Sleep,” I tell her.
“I’m not tired.”
“Sleep anyway,” I say. My voice drops, that quiet authority that makes people obey before they realize they’ve decided to. “You’ll think clearer when you wake. You’ll tell me where the drive is. And tomorrow, when you’ve calmed down, we’ll talk about what you think you know about Owen. You’ll give me your version. I’ll give you mine. We’ll see which one burns cleaner.”
She glares at me. “Get out of my room.”
It almost makes me laugh. “Yourroom?”
“It is right now.”
I nod once, slow. “That,” I murmur, “is the first true thing you’ve said to me tonight.”
I stand. She watches every inch of movement like a cornered animal—tracking, waiting for the hit that doesn’t come. I don’t touch her. I don’t threaten. I don’t tell her she belongs to me, even if some dark,selfishpart of me wants to.
That would be too easy. Too blunt. Too soon.
I go to the door, unlock it, then pause and glance back over my shoulder. “One more thing,” I say.
She doesn’t answer. She’s staring at me like she wants to claw my eyes out and kiss me in the same breath. She doesn’t know that yet.
