Icarry her toward the leather sofa in the corner of theVault.Wehave work to do.Wehave to tellLogan.Wehave to deal with theFeds.Wehave to figure out who was behind the mirror hack.
Butright now?
Icheck my watch.
"Wehavesixhours left on the lockdown,"Isay.
Miagrins, trailing her hand down my chest. "Whatevershall we do?"
Icatch her hand and kiss the steel ring on her finger.
"Ican think of a few variables we haven't tested yet."
Theworld outside can burn.TheCostasare broken, and theFedsare buried in my artistic forgeries.InsidethisVault, the math finally works.
Miais mine.
EPILOGUE
MIA
Myreflection in the vintage mirror at theGrandPineLodgeis a liar.Itshows a woman who looks composed in white silk.Theglass fails to capture the frantic thrum in my chest or the forensic auditor who has checked the weather report, the perimeter security logs, and the seating chart seventeen times in the last hour.
"Stopit,"Savannahorders, her voice firm.Shesmacks my hand away from whereI’mreaching for my phone again. "Thenumbers haven't changed in the last thirty seconds,Mia.Theprobability of rain is still zero, and the probability of you looking hot as hell is still one hundred percent."
Itake a deep breath, the scent of lavender and cedar filling my nose.LucasSterlingcomped the bridal suite for the weekend, a gesture that madeEliasgrumble about "owing favors to civilians," even though he clearly appreciated the security upgradesLucasinstalled since the lastCostascare.
"I'mnot checking the rain,"Iadmit, turning to face theFirstLadyof theBrokenHalos.Savannahlooks radiant in deep forestgreen, her hair swept up in a way that defies gravity. "I'mchecking the gate logs.Danielisn't here yet."
Savannah’ssmile falters, her fingers twitching against the silk of her skirt.Daniel—TheTracker.Thebrother who disappears into the digital ether and pulls strings none of us can see.He’sbeen dark for weeks.
"He'llbe here if he can," she says, smoothing the fabric over my hips. "Andif he can't, he's watching.YouknowDaniel.He'sprobably hacked the lodge's security cameras right now just to make sure your eyeliner is even."
Ilaugh, but the sound is brittle. "Isit?"
"It'sperfect.You'reperfect.AndEliasis currently pacing a hole in the floorboards downstairs.Logantexted me.Apparently, your groom has reorganized the seating chart three times because he didn't like the variables of having the cousins too close to the open bar."
"Thatsounds like him,"Isay, warmth spreading through my chest.MyIceMan.MyTreasurer.Theman who counts my breaths whileIsleep.
Aknock at the heavy oak door interrupts us.It’sa rhythmic, precise knock.Threetaps.Pause.Twotaps.
Savannahrolls her eyes. "Itold him it's bad luck."
"Eliasdoesn't believe in luck,"Isay, moving toward the door before she can stop me. "Hebelieves in data."
Iopen the door a crack.Eliasis standing in the hallway, and the sight of him steals the air from my lungs.He’straded hisink-stainedwork shirt for a black suit that fits him like a second skin, tailored to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders.Hishairis wet, combed back severe and neat, but his eyes—those storm-gray eyes—are wild.
Hedoesn't look at my dress.Helooks at my face.Hescans me, data point by data point, checking for distress, fear, or doubt.
"You'renot supposed to be here,"Iwhisper, thoughIopen the door wider.
"Hadto verify," he rumbles, his voice rough.Hesteps into the room, filling the space with his scent—sandalwood, industrial soap, and the faint, comforting tang ofleather.HeignoresSavannahcompletely. "Heartrate?"
"Elevated,"Isay, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. "Yours?"
"Critical."Hereaches into his jacket pocket. "Iforgot to give you this.Forthe... later part.Thesigning."
Hepulls out a pen.It’snot just a gift; it’s a tool of annexation.Thebarrel is custom-machined from the same 316L stainless steel as the ring on my finger, heavy and cold.Ithas a band of pink ceramic coating near the grip.
