The laugh shivers through her. It’s relief and rage and disbelief that she’s still here. It’s the sound of a woman who survived and is furious she had to.
“Tell me we will win,” she says.
There’s a tremor under the command. Not weakness. Weight.
The part of her that’s tired of being brave.
The part of her that wants someone else to carry the world for a minute.
“We will win,” I say. Then I add, because truth is safety. “And we stay sharp. Victory doesn’t mean safe.”
Her eyes tighten for a heartbeat. Then they soften. She’s not afraid of reality. She’s afraid of being lied to.
“Good,” she whispers. “No lullabies.”
“No lullabies,” I say.
I kiss her once more, slower this time, a quiet promise laid over the place where fear keeps trying to live.
Then I hold her still, just long enough for both our bodies to remember we’re not dying in this chair tonight.
She slips off my lap and straightens her dress. She smooths my shirt and buttons it for me. She’s gentle with the last one.
The gentleness is what wrecks me.
Not the sex.
Not the risk.
The gentleness.
Her fingers pause at my collar, and for a second I think she’s going to pull me back in. Make me prove it again. Make me say it again.
Win. Sharp. Alive.
Instead she steps back and looks at the table, at the recorder, at the bag like it’s a third heartbeat in the room.
“Tomorrow,” she says, voice calm, eyes lit.
Not a hope.
A schedule.
“Tomorrow,” I agree. “And tonight?” I tip my chin at the locks, the window, and the street below. “We don’t get careless.”
Her mouth curves.
“Good,” she says again, softer, like she’s talking to the part of me that could’ve been raised wrong. “Because I didn’t crawl into your lap to die.”
I stand and pull her close, careful, controlled, hungry enough to hurt.
“You won’t,” I tell her. “Not on my watch.”
“Next step?” she asks against my throat.
“Name the voice,” I say. “Place him where he can’t wriggle. Send the clean copy to Rinaldi and let him drink. Take the curated packet to the Commission with myuncle beside me. Put the clause on paper. Sign it. But before all that, you must show your father you are well.”
She exhales. She knows she has to but is dreading it.
