"And he's connected to what you're looking for?"
"He signed off on wire transfers to facilities associated with Project Omega. He might be the key to finding where the new program is operating."
Jonah thinks for a second before he speaks. "You're telling me this why?"
"I don't know."
He turns off the burner and faces me. This close, I can see the faint bruise on his lower lip where I bit him. Can see the way his pupils dilate slightly when he looks at me.
"You don't know," he repeats.
"I don't do this. I don't share operational details with assets. I don't cook dinner. I don't—" I stop. Set down the knife. "I don't lose control."
"And this morning?"
"Was a mistake."
He laughs. Not bitter this time, just tired. "You keep saying that. But you're still standing in your kitchen, chopping onions, telling me about your secret investigation." He takes a step closer. "That doesn't seem like mistake behavior, Harrison. That seems like you want something and you don't know how to ask for it."
"I don't want anything."
"Man, I should change your name to Liar J." Another step. He's close enough to touch now, close enough that I can smell my own soap on his skin. "You want to know what I think?"
"No."
"I think you've spent your whole life being someone you’re not. Following orders, suppressing feelings, doing whatever they programmed you to do. And I think somewhere along the line, something broke. Not in a bad way. Just..." He tilts his head, studying me. "A teensy, tiny sliver. Just enough for the human underneath to start leaking through."
"I'm not human."
"You keep saying that too." His hand comes up, hovers near my face, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his skin without touching. "But I've seen the books you annotate. I've heard you almost laugh at my jokes. I watched your hands shakewhen you touched me this morning." His voice drops. "That's not a psycho, Jagger. That's a man who forgot he was allowed to feel things."
I should step back. Should put distance between us.
Instead, I lean into his hand.
His palm is warm against my cheek. Calloused from years I don't know about, gentle in a way that makes my chest tight. He doesn't move, doesn't push. Just holds me there, looking at me like I'm… human.
"This is a bad idea," I say.
"Probably."
"I could destroy you."
"You already did." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "And I'm still here."
I close my eyes. His touch is the only solid thing in the world.
"The food is burning," I say eventually.
"No it isn't. I turned off the stove."
"Of course you did."
He laughs, soft and genuine, and the sound does something terrible to my insides.
I open my eyes. He's still there. Still looking at me like that.
"I don't know how to do this," I tell him.
