“You put yourself in the line of fire.” He searches my eyes. “Why?”
My stomach swoops. “You know why.”
His fingers tighten, his calluses rough on my skin. “Say it.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.” He leans in far enough for his breath to fill my ear through our masks. “Because if you did it for the job, I can pay you. But if you did it for me, then you don’t get to pretend we’re still negotiable.”
The radio crackles to life before I can respond. “Security alert triggered in east wing. Distraction successful. Extraction window is in four minutes.”
The alert cuts through the moment, dragging us back to the operation at hand.
Rowan’s hand slides from my wrist to my elbow to my shoulder, never breaking contact as we move forward. The crew forms around us in practiced formation, each person covering their assigned sectors.
The extraction route narrows toward the service exit. Overhead lights flicker, casting strange shadows across cement floors. My boots stick where cleaning solution hasn’t dried all the way, creating a subtle resistance with each step.
Rowan stays close, his back almost touching mine as we pass through the final corridor, our movements mirroring each other without conscious effort, his body angling to cover my blind spots as mine covers his.
Saint’s voice carries back to us. “Thirty seconds to exit.”
The service door appears ahead, its metal surface reflecting the emergency lights. I move on ahead and drop to one knee, unzipping the compact tool bag strapped across my torso. My fingers find the tension wrench and pick by touch alone, musclememory guiding me to the right tools. The lock housing chills my fingertips as I work the mechanism, counting each pin as it clicks into place.
Rowan shifts his weight behind me, his body angling to shield both me and the data core while maintaining visual contact with both ends of the corridor.
The lock surrenders with a soft click that carries in the confined space, and I shift aside for Orien to go out first. Cold night air rushes in as he pushes the door open, bringing with it wet asphalt and distant traffic.
“Clear,” he murmurs, slipping through first to secure our exit path.
We move in sequence, each person flowing through the opening with minimal exposure. Rowan’s hand finds the small of my back, the light pressure guiding me through ahead of him.
Outside, sleet pelts down in stinging needles, biting through clothing and clinging to my eyelashes. The van waits twenty yards ahead, engine running, exhaust billowing ghostly white in the frigid air, lights off. The stretch of road from the building to the vehicle will leave us exposed, salt scattered across the ground ready to make each footstep crunch and echo.
“Go.” The command comes from Rowan, directed at the team.
They move in pairs, crossing the open space in staggered intervals. Saint and Orien first, followed by Luca and Reef. Rowan and I remain in the shadows, his hand never leaving my back.
“Together,” he says, the word warm in my ear.
We step into the open as one unit, his longer stride matching mine without effort. Sleet soaks through my jacket, cold droplets trickling down my neck beneath the cheap guard. Rowan’s hand slides to my hip, keeping me close as we near the van.
The side door stands open, and hands reach out to pull us inside. The space fills with the scent of wet clothes and adrenaline as the door closes behind us. The engine revs, tires gripping wet pavement as we pull away from the Harmon building.
No alarms. No pursuit. We completed our mission, but we didn’t escape without conflict, and it sits uneasy within me.
While the crew exchanges quiet congratulations, silence builds between Rowan and me. His thigh presses against mine on the narrow bench seat, our bodies connected from knee to shoulder.
“Drop point in five,” Jackson, our driver, announces from the front compartment.
The crew will disperse at different locations, taking separate routes back to the Blue Note. Standard procedure after any job. Rowan and I will be the last to exit, returning to his car parked six blocks from our starting point.
His fingers find mine in the darkness of the van, twining together in silent acknowledgment. The warmth of his palm seeps into my skin, chasing away the chill from the sleet and the lingering adrenaline.
“The guard I took down,” I murmur for only Rowan to hear. “He’ll alert his employers that we were there.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Rowan’s thumb stills on my wrist. “We were wearing masks.”
“Only once we were inside.” Now that we’re out, the anxiety has time to take root. “If they caught our faces before we made it into the building?—”
