She presses a kiss just above my scar. “Then don’t drop it.”
I smile into the dark. “Never.”
She wraps herself tighter around me, her leg sliding between mine, her breath warming the skin just above my heart. And I realize something then—something quiet and terrifying and beautiful.
This is the only war I ever want to lose.
And I’ll fight every goddamn day to keep it.
CHAPTER 13
SABLE
Something’s different now.
Not just in the way Voltar looks at me—though that’s changed too. Softer. Steadier. Like he’s not just watching my back, but watchingme. All of me. The cracks and the steel and the silly parts I used to hide. There’s no hiding anymore. Not with him.
It’s in the way we move, too. We’ve always had rhythm, but now it’s sync. Like breathing. Like a dance we didn’t even know we’d memorized. I open the salon at nine, and he’s already perched at the window seat with his arms crossed and that watchful scowl softened just enough to keep kids from crying but still make potential threats think twice.
My customers have started calling him “The Shampoo Sentry.”
I call him that too, usually with a smirk and a flick of the towel over my shoulder. “Voltar, my liege,” I’ll say, “your presence is required in aisle conditioner.”
He plays along, mostly. Grunts, but doesn’t deny me. And when old Ms. Tora runs her hand along his bicep while asking if he’s single, he only gives me a look—a little side-eye smirk that says,help mewithout ever needing to say it.
I pretend to be scandalized. “You’re public property now. We all get to enjoy the view.”
He growls, but it’s not a threat. Not anymore. I’ve learned the difference.
Gods, Ilovethe way he smiles now. Not the cocky, self-assured smirk he used to wear like a blade, but the quiet kind. The one that starts in his eyes. Like he’s letting himself be light. Just for a minute.
Everything is good. Too good.
And that’s when Saul walks in.
The door chimes, and I don’t look up at first. I’m mid-trim, chatting with Dee about her son’s hoverball championship. My hands move automatically—section, snip, comb. It’s muscle memory. Habit.
But I feel Voltar shift.
It’s subtle. Just a weight pulling tighter. A silence that rings louder than noise.
Then I glance up—and there he is.
Saul. Same smarmy smile. Same expensive coat. But he’s twitchier than I remember. His eyes cut to Voltar the second he steps through the door, and the smirk falters.
Just for a breath. Just long enough.
“Just getting a trim,” he says, all oily charm. “Didn’t mean to interrupt the fortress.”
My stomach drops.
Voltar doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
But he growls.
Low. Quiet. Lethal.
The sound rumbles through the salon like a pressure shift. The mirror by the front desk trembles. My hand tightens on the shears.
