I can do a perimeter check in my sleep. I can sweep rooms, lock down exits, map escape routes, monitor cameras, all without breaking a sweat.
What I can’t do with the same level of ease is stand in a warm living room with Rowan Sands watching me like she’s trying to decide if I’m a threat or a comfort.
Or both.
“Okay,” she says, drawing out the word. “So what do we do now?”
“Now we wait,” I answer.
Rowan makes a face. “I hate waiting.”
“I know.”
She tips her head, eyes bright in a way that’s always a little too sharp. “How do you know?”
“Because you’ve been vibrating since you woke up.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
Rowan huffs. “Fine. Maybe I have. I’m not built for captivity.”
“This isn’t captivity.”
“It feels like it.” She gestures around the safe house. “I can’t leave. I can’t call my friends. I can’t check my usual sources. I don’t even have my phone, which was basically a limb until it betrayed me.” Her voice goes tight at the end.
I don’t soften. Softening gives people permission to think you’ll bend. But I do step closer, just enough that she can feel me without me looming. “Cal’s tech team is building your new digital life,” I say. “We’ll get you clean accounts. Your sources can reach you through controlled channels.”
Rowan’s mouth twists. “Controlled channels. Sounds like a cult.”
“It’s security.”
“It’s a cult with better branding.”
A laugh almost gets past my guard. Almost. Rowan watches my face like she’s hunting for cracks. I keep mine locked down.
“What?” I ask.
She shrugs, pretending she’s casual. “Nothing. Just… you’re very serious.”
“I’m paid to be.”
“Do you ever turn it off?”
“No.”
Rowan’s gaze drops to my hands, then my forearms, then back up, and my body responds like it’s been waiting for her attention.
Heat. Awareness. A pull.
I shift my weight to keep myself grounded. This is the problem with being holed up. There’s no distance. No buffer. Just hours stacked on hours, and every time she looks at me I have to remind myself that desire is not a reason to act.
Rowan leans back into the couch, the movement slow and deliberate. Not flirtation exactly. More like curiosity testing the edges. “So,” she says, voice light, “how do we pass the time?”
My mind answers before my mouth can. With your legs around my waist. With your mouth on mine. With your laughter turning into that soft sound women make when theystop pretending they aren’t hungry. Dirty thoughts. Unhelpful thoughts. Thoughts that would break every rule I live by.
I keep my face neutral. “We keep you busy.”
