She’s right.
I swallow, step back, force the distance into place. “I’m done,” I say, finishing the wipe and unplugging her phone. “Your devices are clean. I’ll handle the rest.”
I hand it back to her carefully, like it’s something fragile, like she is.
“Don’t go anywhere tonight,” I add. “Not alone.”
Her jaw clenches. “You don’t get to tell me—”
“I’m not,” I interrupt, softer now. “I’m asking.”
The words hang between us, heavy with everything neither of us is ready to say. She stares at me like she’s trying to decide whether that softness is real or just another version of control dressed up nicer. Fair question.
“I’m asking,” I repeat, quieter this time.
She studies me like she’s weighing whether I mean it—or whether I’m about to turn into every officer who’s ever decided they knew better than her. The silence stretches. I don’t fill it right away, because this part matters. She needs a choice. She needs to know the difference.
“I’m not leaving,” I add finally. “Not tonight. I’ll stay here. Outside your quarters if I have to.”
Her brows knit together. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” I exhale slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax. “But I will.”
I pace once, then stop, leaning back against the desk like if I stay still too long I’ll say the wrong thing. The hum of the base presses in on us, low and constant, and I hate how exposed this room suddenly feels. How thin the walls are. How many eyes Iknow are out there, even when it looks quiet. How close she is. How little that towel leaves to the imagination when imagination is the last thing I should be allowing myself.
“We’re still going through with the party,” I say.
Her head snaps up. “Jon—”
“Listen,” I cut in, holding her gaze. “Canceling it now would raise more flags than showing up ever could. Mikhail doesn’t miss patterns like that. A closed-door cancellation? That tells him we know something.”
Her jaw tightens, and I can see the anger starting to spark. The fear, too, buried underneath it. She hates this already. So do I.
“But it’s going to be a disaster,” I continue bluntly. “There’s no version of that room full of Greenport’s finest that doesn’t look like an open invitation to him.”
She swallows.
“All those veterans. Retired command. Families. High visibility. Controlled environment.” I shake my head once. “If I were him, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“And me?” she asks quietly.
The question hits harder than any of the rest. Not because I don’t know the answer. Because I do.
“You,” I say, carefully, “are the perfect leverage.”
Her shoulders draw in just slightly, and I hate myself for saying it out loud—even knowing she already understands. The truth still feels like a cruelty.
“You’ve been a target before,” I go on. “So has King. Your mother. He’s already proven he’ll use the people closest to us to get what he wants. A birthday party meant to honor Greenport families?” I meet her eyes again. “That’s bait he wouldn’t ignore.”
The word hangs between us, ugly and sharp.
Neither of us moves for a long moment.
Then I notice the little things, the way her fingers curl into the edge of the towel like she’s grounding herself. The faint tremor in her breathing she’s pretending isn’t there. The way her hair is still damp at the ends, darkening the fabric where it brushes her collarbone. The drop of water slowly trailing down the hollow of her throat.
I shouldn’t notice any of it.
I do anyway.
