"I'm plenty volatile."
"Less, though. You're sleeping better. Eating more. Making stupid jokes instead of just being stupid." He shifts left, I mirror him. "Elliot noticed too. He says you're finally learning how to regulate your emotions instead of just reacting to them."
"Elliot uses too many therapy words."
"Elliot survived things that would have broken most people. He earned his therapy words." Jace stops moving, drops his hands. His gray eyes find mine, and for once they're not flat. They're searching. "Do you love him?"
The question catches me off guard. Jace doesn't ask about feelings. Jace barely acknowledges that feelings exist. The fact that he's asking now means something, though I'm not sure what.
"I don't know," I say honestly. "Maybe. Probably. I'm not good at identifying this shit."
"Neither was I. Then Elliot happened." His eyes soften. "It's terrifying. Loving someone. Knowing they can be taken fromyou. Knowing that everything you've built can be destroyed in a single moment."
"You're really selling it. Please, continue."
"I'm telling you the truth. Love is terrifying." He picks up a towel, wipes sweat from his face. "But it's also the only thing that makes any of this worth surviving. The Foundry tried to make us into weapons, tried to strip away everything human. Love is how we prove they failed."
I stare at my brother. The Reaper. The silent killer who's put more men in the ground than either of us can count. And he's standing here in a cold barn, talking about love like it's a tactical advantage.
"When did you get wise?"
"I've always been wise. You just weren't paying attention." He tosses me the towel. "Go shower. Singapore briefing is in two hours. And Jinx?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you decide about Asher, decide it soon. Uncertainty is a liability in the field. You need to know what you're fighting for before you walk into another facility."
He leaves before I can respond, silent as always, the barn door swinging shut behind him.
I stand alone in the cold, turning his words over in my mind.
Know what you're fighting for.
I think I already do.
The briefing isn't until ten. It's barely eight now.
I shower, dress, wander through the farmhouse. Everyone is occupied with preparation. Jagger hunched over his tablet, running simulations. Marlee checking weapons with Thiago, whose shoulder has healed enough to be useful. Kira pacing by the window, still jumpy from Geneva.
And Asher.
He's in the kitchen, making coffee, because apparently that's what he does. His back is to me, broad shoulders shifting under his shirt as he moves.
I watch him, unobserved. The way he holds himself. The economy of his movements. The quiet strength that radiates from him even when he's doing something as mundane as brewing coffee. The beard he’s been growing in and the stubble across his head from lack of time to shave it bald.
Know what you're fighting for.
I cross the kitchen in four strides and spin him around.
His eyes widen, hands coming up instinctively, but I'm already kissing him. Not gentle. Not careful. The kind of kiss that says things I don't have words for, that pours everything I'm feeling into the press of lips and the clash of tongues.
He recovers fast, hands finding my hips, pulling me closer. The counter digs into his back. My body presses against his. The kiss deepens, turns desperate, turns into something that feels like a promise.
"Jinx." He breaks away, breathing hard. "What—"
"Upstairs. Now."
"The briefing—"
