I keep my voice even. “Enough.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “That sounds like a lie.”
I arch a brow. “Don’t start.”
She smirks, then takes a bite of the eggs. Her eyes close for a second, like the taste is bringing her back to life.
I should look away.Fuck.I don’t. Instead, I watch her chew, watch the tension ease out of her shoulders by degrees. She’s safe right now. In this kitchen. With me. The thought does something to me. Something primal.
She opens her eyes and looks at me over the rim of her coffee mug. “You’re staring.”
“I’m assessing.”
“Assessing what?”
I choose my words carefully. “Whether you’re going to crash later. Adrenaline wears off.”
Her gaze holds mine, too steady for someone who just woke up. “And?”
“You need to stay strong.”
Her mouth curves. “So you made me eggs?”
“Yes.”
“That’s kind of… sweet.”
“It’s practical.”
“Sure,” she says, not buying it. “Practical eggs. Very tactical.”
I feel the corner of my mouth threaten to lift. I stop it.
Rowan eats another bite, then gestures with her fork toward my phone on the counter. “Your brothers?”
“Yeah.”
She swallows. “They okay?”
“They’re breathing.”
“That’s your version of reassurance?”
“It’s the only kind that matters.”
She studies me for a beat, then looks down at her plate again. “What did they find?”
I hesitate.
Rowan looks up immediately, catching it. “Sin.”
“Rowan.”
“Don’t ‘Rowan’ me. You can trust me.”
I laugh. “Trust an investigative journalist?” I raise a brow.
“Everything between us is off the record. Promise.” She steps closer. “I really want you to trust me. You’ve done so much for me.”
