“Quinn,” he says, like he’s already mid-argument.
“Vale,” I answer without looking.
He hates when I call him by his surname. I do it because he hates it.
He drops into one of the battered chairs across from my desk with a graceless flop of amusement and temper. Leather creaks under him. He smells like smoke and woman and expensive cologne warmed by skin. He’s always warm, Vale. Touch his neck and he’ll feel fevered even when he’s not. It’s the blood. He runs hot.
“What thefuckare we doing?” He asks.
I hum. “That’s broad.”
“Withher,” he snaps.
“I assumed you’d be more specific,” I say mildly, “since you already did breakfast with her like you were auditioning for a sin you can’t afford.”
A low laugh rolls out of him. “You saw that?”
“It’sliterallymy job to see that,” I say, quirking a brow.Where is he going with this?
He drags a hand through his hair and leans forward, elbows on knees, forearms a map of ink and scripture and violence. “She’s going to get somebody killed.”
“Yes,” I agree slowly.
He blinks. Vale’s not stupid. He just leads with appetite over caution. Still, the honesty throws him.
“Okay,” he says. “We agree.Weird.”
“Mark the calendar,” I murmur.
“Don’t get clever,” he warns, pointing a finger at me without any heat to it. “I’m in no mood.”
“You’reina mood,” I say. “Just not that one.”
He tilts his head, slow grin creeping. “You watching me, Ghost?”
“Always,” I say.
He laughs again, low and filthy, then scrubs his hands over his face and exhales. “She’s a fucking problem.”
I glance at the screen. Ember, sitting composed on the bed now, chin up, eyes clear again. Nothing in her posture gives away that five minutes ago she was shaking so hard she had to brace herself against her own ribs. Clever.
“She’s a lot of things,” I say.
“Don’t start cataloguing,” he groans. “You and Caelum.‘She’s interesting.’ ‘She’s useful.’ ‘She’s leverage.’She’spussy, mate. Complicated pussy, sure, but still pussy.”
I finally look at him for that.
He smirks back, dark eyes dancing. He wants me to argue. He wants me to react like he always wants me to react — offended, territorial on Caelum’s behalf, moral. As if I have morals left.
Instead I just say, “That’s not what she’s going to break us with.”
That actually wipes the smirk off his mouth. His brow lifts, slow. “No?”
“No.”
He waits. I go back to the monitors. I let him wait.
Patience annoys him. Patience makes him push. That gets me better data than answering when asked.
