“I want to understand why you have five jackets that are all black but apparentlynotthe same.”
She covers her mouth. I think she’s going to snort, or sigh, or possibly scream into a pillow. But she doesn’t.
She laughs.
And this time—it’s not sharp. It’s not startled. It’s not even at my expense.
She laughswithme.
And something in the air shifts.
It’s not big. Not seismic. Just… different.
She drops into the chair across from me and tucks her feet under her. “Okay, hit me. What have you learned?”
I turn the screen toward her and recite: “A hemline is the bottom edge of a garment. It can be high, low, asymmetrical, scalloped, or bubble-shaped.”
Her smile stretches wider. “Impressive.”
“I also learned what ruching is. And that chiffon is not a weapon.”
She snorts. “It could be. In the right hands.”
“I am those hands.”
That earns a full grin.
We lapse into a comfortable silence, the kind I never expected to find in a safehouse on a planet I can’t legally operate on. I study her face—the way the lamplight softens her features, the relaxed way she curls up, her fingers absently fiddling with a stray thread on her sleeve.
She’s not tense. Not recoiling. Not waiting for the next attack.
She’s just… here.
With me.
I look back at the screen and pretend to read. But I’m memorizing something else entirely.
Not her vitals. Not her patterns.
Just her.
And it’s more terrifying than any mission I’ve ever taken.
CHAPTER 7
SABLE
The salon smells like citrus foam and hot circuitry—blowtorches on low, hairspray clouding the recycled air, and something vaguely fruity that might be Jacey’s new body oil or a client’s purse snack melting in the wall heater. Either way, it’s familiar. Safe.
For the first time in days, I feel almost normal.
Except for the part where my walking disaster of a bodyguard is parked in the waiting area like a badly hidden statue wearing knockoff Ray Shields and pretending he’s invisible.
“He built an illegal forcefield around mysofa,” I hiss, twisting the final band on Ms. Lo’s electro-curl set. The coils emit a soft hum and flicker faint blue. “I stubbed my toe and nearly lost alimb, Jace.”
Jacey, who’s sitting on the counter filing her nails and sipping a triple-glow mango infusion, arches one perfect eyebrow. “Yeah, but did you see his shoulders?”
I nearly drop my heat wand. “Not the point.”
