“Have you heard from Lucy?”
“No.” His jaw clenches. “She told me she was leaving her apartment at six. It’s almost eight. She’s not answering.”
The way he says “she told me” — like they had a specific conversation about her evening plans. Because they did. He’s been tracking her movements for weeks and calling it security coordination.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I say, but I don’t feel sure. Aldridge is arrested but his network isn’t fully dismantled. There are associates who haven’t been caught. And Lucy is connected to the investigation because she helped me with the research. She pulled Library of Congress records, dug up financial documents, chased down corporate filings. Hell, her name could be in files that were seized from my Georgetown apartment by the FBI for the case.
The prickle of concern sharpens into something colder.
I pushit aside because Ryan Krychek just walked into the room.
I spot him across the venue. Nice suit, polished, working the crowd like he belongs at an event celebrating my achievement. That confident, easy charm I used to find so attractive. The smile that made me overlook how he never wanted to visit me in DC.
The sight of him doesn’t make my stomach drop. I feel nothing. Maybe mild irritation that he’s here at all.
He spots me and makes his way over. That calculated smile.
“Sloane. Congratulations. The article is incredible — really, truly incredible work. I always knew you had this in you.”
“Thank you, Ryan.”
“You look amazing. Better than ever.” His eyes sweep over me in a way that used to make me feel seen and now makes me feel assessed. “I’ve been thinking about us. About what happened. I made a mistake.”
I stare at him and wonder why he’s even in DC. I did most of the traveling in our relationship, flying across the country to LA with my own money, because it was never worth the effort forhim to come to me. And yet here he is at my event because I’m on the front page of every newspaper in America and suddenly I’m worth the plane ticket. The realization doesn’t make me angry. It makes me perfectly, crystalline clear.
“Ryan, when you declined involvement with the State Department after I was kidnapped, that was you telling me we weren’t together. That was the end.”
His composure cracks. “I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. The whole situation was so overwhelming and?—”
“And now you’re here. You flew to DC, which you always told me was too far and too expensive. But now I’m front page news and suddenly I’m worth the trip?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it.
“I’m with someone,” I say simply.
A massive green hand settles on my lower back. The crowd parts slightly because an orc in a well-tailored suit has materialized beside me. I didn’t even hear him approach. I never do.
“Who is this?” Jonus asks with a deep rumble. His voice is perfectly pleasant. His smile doesn’t reach his dark eyes. His tusks catch the light from the overhead chandelier.
Ryan’s face goes white. He’s looking up — way, way up — at an orc who is looking down at him with an expression that suggests he could snap Ryan in half and is politely choosing not to.
“Ryan, this is my new boyfriend, Jonus Irontree. Jonus, this is Ryan Krychek. My ex-fiancé.”
“The one who told the State Department he was declining involvement and left you to die in a pit in Colombia?” Jonus questions. Still pleasant. Still smiling.
“Yep, the same one.”
Ryan manages some kind of mumbled congratulations and retreats so fast he nearly backs into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne.
I watch him go. Wait until he’s out of earshot.
“Was that mean of us?”
“No, that was accurate.”
I look up at Jonus. This orc who flew to Colombia in forty-eight hours after the call from the State Department. Who carried me through a jungle barefoot and told me he loved me in front of his whole family because he couldn’t wait one more second.
“Thank you,” I say.
