“Then why are you asking me questions you already know the answers to?”
Because I need to hear you say them, I think.Because I need to know if you’ve fallen too.Instead, I say, “Because I don’t likeloosevariables. And she’s becoming one.”
He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even blink. He stays quiet and steady in that insufferable sort of way. “You think she’s dangerous,” he says.
“I think she’s not what she claims to be.”
He studies me, then asks the question on the tip of his tongue. “You think she’s lying about her brother?”
“I think she’s lying abouteverything. It’s just a matter of determining which lie is the most important,” I counter, refusing to acknowledge the way the thought of her fucking us over makes my stomach twist.
Something flickers across his expression — too quick to catch, but it’s there. Guilt. Or maybe memory.
“Ronan.” My voice sharpens. “You’re the one who pulled the trigger. You sure you got the right man?”
His jaw flexes, venom spewing from his lips. “Owen wasdirty. We hadproof.”
“Proof youneverfully received. Only a snippet that was meant to damn him.”
He steps forward, and for a moment the air between us tightens. “Yousigned the order.”
“Yes,” I say. “And now I’m wondering if I signed thewrongone.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Old loyalty and new doubt colliding like stones.
“You’re letting her get to you,” he says finally.
“Am I?” I question, refusing to give a name to the feeling racing through my chest.
He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Youare. She’s inyourhead, and she’s inmine, and she’s ineveryroom of this house like a goddamnghost.”
He’s right, but I won’t give him that satisfaction. “Then maybe we should start exorcising,” I say dryly.
He doesn’t smile. “She’s just a girl,” he mutters. “Stop making her more than that.”
I rise from my chair, crossing to the window. “If she’s just a girl, explain why every man under my command is changing because of her.”
He doesn’t answer. I turn, my reflection fractured in the glass — one half light, one half shadow. “Mateo’s reckless, Saint’s distracted, Ash is unpredictable, and you…”
“Say it,” he growls.
I turn to face him again, wanting to look him in the eyes when I say it. “You’re conflicted.”
He takes a step closer. “You’reprojecting.”
“Am I?” I quirk a brow.
He laughs once, low and humorless. “You think you’re the only one who sees it? The way you look at her?”
That stops me. For a heartbeat, neither of us breathes.
“I look at her,” I say evenly, “the way I look at every threat.”
“Then maybe you shouldstoplooking,” he snaps. “Before one of us does something we can’t take back.”
The words hang between us — raw, honest, and far too late. He turns to leave, but I stop him with one more question. “If she’s the key, Ronan—if she’s what’s been missing from all this—what happens when she remembers?”
He pauses at the door, his hand on the handle. Doesn’t turn.
