ROWAN
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Not because I’m used to getting what I want. I’m not. My career is built on being told no and then asking better questions until the no turns into a confession. But this is different.
Sin didn’t turn me down with disdain. He didn’t mock me. He didn’t treat me like I was silly for wanting something human in the middle of something terrifying. He turned me down like a man who wanted to say yes. Which, honestly, is worse.
Now we’re doing drills, and my nervous system is having a full-blown identity crisis.
Sin clears the living room space with the calm precision of someone rearranging furniture for a party, except the party is called “Survive an Attack” and the guests are adrenaline and bad outcomes. He points to the front door. “You hear a knock. What do you do?”
“I open it and say, ‘Hello, potential murderer,’” I reply.
His eyes narrow. “Try again.”
I fold my arms. “I ask who it is.”
“From where?”
“Behind the door.”
His gaze sharpens. “No. From cover. You don’t stand in front of a door you don’t control.” He moves to the wall, and shows me the angle. “Here. You can see the entry without exposing yourself.”
I step into position, feeling ridiculous and oddly alive. My pulse is already ticking up, my body responding like this is a game even though it isn’t.
Sin stands close, just behind my shoulder. He’s not touching me, but still, Ifeelhim. I feel the heat from his body. The faint scent of coffee and something clean and masculine that makes my brain short-circuit. He speaks near my ear. “Again. Knock. What do you do?”
I swallow. “I move to cover. I ask who it is. I don’t open the door.”
“Good.” His voice is low. “And if you hear glass break in the back?”
“Run?” I guess.
“No.” He steps around me, quick and controlled. “You move. You go to the safe room.”
“The safe room is where?”
He points down the hall. “Second door left. Closet inside. Panel opens. You get in. You lock it and you wait for me.”
My chest tightens on the word wait. I hate waiting. I hate being powerless. I hate the idea that if something happens, my job isto hide while he bleeds for me. I nod anyway, because I’m not stupid.
Sin picks up a stopwatch from the counter. Of course he has a stopwatch. He probably has spreadsheets for breathing. “Ready?” he asks.
“For what?” I ask.
“For stress,” he replies. He starts the timer. “Knock,” he says sharply.
My body jolts. I move to cover, doing it exactly the way he showed me, because I want to prove I can learn. I can handle this. I can be useful. “Who is it?” I call out, voice steady.
Sin’s voice changes, deeper, harsher. “Open the door, Rowan.”
My stomach flips. It’s an act. I know it’s an act. Still, my skin prickles. “No,” I say.
“Open the door.”
I tighten my stance. “No.”
Sin steps closer. His presence shifts behind me. The air thickens. “He says he’s from the power company.”
I scoff. “In the middle of the woods?”
