He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to. Exposing Morath means confronting Lord Vorath. Challenging the authority structure his father built. Possibly triggering open war within the house while enemies circle outside.
“And Vezra?” I ask.
“She has family in the Splits. A brother who owed us money, years back.” He studies her file, and I watch him searching for a reason to suspect her over the other two. Over Teshra. “The debt was cleared, but grudges don't always follow paperwork.”
Drazex tenses when the door chimes. The male who was just leaning toward me disappears behind something harder.
“Enter.”
Samai fills the doorway, all restless energy and sharp edges. His gaze tracks between us, reading everything we thought we'd hidden.
“Brother.” The mocking lilt is there, but something else lurks underneath. “And the medic. Cozy.”
“What do you want, Samai?”
“Father sent me.” Three words, and the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Samai's performance falls away. “He's asking questions. Why does the debt contract have access to restricted areas? Why is his heir running an investigation without formal sanction?” His gaze cuts to me. “Why is she reviewing personnel files that should require his authorization?”
Drazex goes still. “I sanctioned the investigation.”
“The old male sees everything. If he thinks she's made you stupid...” He doesn't finish. The silence finishes for him.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing he didn't already know.” Samai moves toward the door, pauses. His lighter eyes find mine, and the mockery has bled away to reveal a warning stripped of performance. “You're trouble, medic. Try not to get my brother killed.”
The door seals behind him. Drazex hasn't moved, his hands white-knuckled on the console edge, every line of his body carved from tension.
“You should return to your quarters.”
Ten minutes ago he was close enough that his breath warmed my skin. Now he's somewhere I can't reach, retreating behind walls I thought we'd started dismantling.
“Running confirms his suspicions.”
“You don't know my father.” His voice scrapes low. “You don't know what he does to threats.”
“Then tell me.”
He turns. The look on his face stops my breath. Fury and fear knotted together, and underneath both, grief.
“My mother tried to sell Syndicate secrets when I was twelve. The Council made us watch her die.” The words come out flat. Rehearsed. Like he's told himself this story so many times it's worn smooth. “Afterward, my father told me love makes you weak. Gives your enemies weapons.”
I wait. There's more. I can see it building behind his eyes.
“Then you walked into my receiving room.” His hands flex at his sides, claws threatening to extend. “And every lesson stopped mattering.”
“I'm not a weakness.”
“To him, you are.” He steps closer, stops himself. “If he sees what you've become to me, he'll use you against me. Or he'll eliminate the threat.”
The confession lands between us, heavier than either of us intended. He's admitting what we've both been circling for days. This pull between us, this gravity that bends everything else out of shape. We've been calling it proximity, necessity, the forced intimacy of shared investigation. We've been lying to ourselves.
Standing here, watching him fight against the words he's already spoken, I realize I don't want to lie anymore.
I’ve held the line for years. Been the steady one while everyone else fell apart. Hoarded hope in small doses, told myself that wanting things was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Softness. Being held. Someone to look at me the way he’s looking at me right now. My life has offered me precious little tenderness and even less love, and I learned early to stop reaching for things that would only be ripped away.
He's reaching for me. Has reached for me since that first night, in every meal he made sure arrived, every threat he deflected, every moment he let me see past the enforcer to the male beneath. I'm tired of pretending I don't want to reach back.
“Then stop protecting me from consequences I've already accepted.” I close the distance he won't. Press my palm flat against his chest, against the double-beat of his hearts. “I walked into this compound with open eyes. I will not watch you destroy yourself trying to shield me from a danger I'm already inside.”
