She nods. “You kiss like you mean it. Hard to sleep through that.”
Her smile fades a little. Not gone. Just dimmed by something heavier.
“You think they’ll come back?” she asks.
My hands curl around the mug.
“Yes.”
She doesn’t flinch. “And if they do?”
I look her dead in the eyes. “Then they bleed.”
She steps forward, wraps her arms around my waist. Resting her cheek against my chest, right where the armor stops.
“I believe you,” she whispers.
And damn me—I believe her too.
That’s when I know.
I’m not guarding her anymore.
I’m loving her.
And I don’t know if I’ll survive that.
Lazarus drops the alert like a bomb in my lap: shipment inbound to Novaria. Syndicate-flagged. High priority. He sends the coordinates, the manifest, and a warning.
"Don’t go in guns hot,” he says.
I stare at the comm. “You say that like I’m the problem.”
“You are.”
We’re quiet for a beat. Then he adds, “They’ll be expecting someone. Not you.”
I look over at Sable, who’s adjusting the clasp on her earring in the mirror. Her hair’s up, her lips painted like something out of a dream. Gold dress that clings like a second skin.
“Fine,” I growl. “We’ll do it your way.”
The suit they give me is ridiculous. Black, tailored, and tight across the shoulders like it’s trying to start a fight. I tug at the collar, muttering curses. Sable walks out and freezes.
Her eyes roam slow, then land on mine.
“You clean up... decently,” she teases.
I arch a brow. “Only decent?”
She smirks. “The tie’s crooked.”
She steps close to fix it, fingers cool against my throat. Her scent is warm sugar and danger. I could get drunk on that. Maybe I already am.
“You ready to sell this whole ‘married couple’ act?” she asks.
I loop her arm through mine. “You tell me, Mrs. Voltar.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile’s real.
