And I hate it. I hate that it hurts. I shouldn’t stare. Shouldn’t imagine sliding my hand where he is. Replacing it. Taking what he pretends he owns.
She’s not his.
She’s mine, whether either of us likes it or not.
If he were awake, he’d see the danger in my eyes. The warning. The promise of his blood.
The things I’m willing to do to protect what’s mine.
I grip the edge of the doorframe, fingers curling into the wood. I should look away.
But I don’t. I let it hurt.
I was molded to serve a purpose, to be a weapon.
One day soon, she’ll look at me and finally understand.
I’m not going anywhere.
And I will burn down the world before I let anyone touch her like this again.
37 READY OR NOT
The room still smells like Tex. Leather. Smoke. Something warm I can’t name. He’s in the bathroom now, brushing his teeth with his hoodie half-zipped and humming like the world isn’t about to turn inside out.
I’m already dressed.
Black tactical pants. Ribbed base layer. My jacket is tailored to hide blades in four different compartments. My boots are heavy and worn in, comfort in the form of violence.
I don’t feel nervous. Not yet.
Just… steady.
Focused.
I braid my damp hair back and twist it into a knot, then swipe on a little liner in the mirror before stepping into the main room.
Jace is there.
Sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, a folder balanced across one thigh and a cup of coffee cradled in his hand.
He’s already in mission clothes, black and sharp and perfectly put together. His sleeves are rolled. His jaw is tight. He doesn’t look up right away when I walk in.
When he does, it’s for half a second.
“Hey,” I say.
“Morning,” he answers. His voice is neutral.
Something in my chest goes still. Before I can say anything else, he lifts the file and flicks through a page without looking at me.
“Lucian wants us at the command wing in twenty. Briefing room four.”
I nod. “Okay. Thanks.”
I wait for something more, a flicker of sarcasm, a question, even just eye contact.
Nothing.
