He turns his head, his gaze heavy and unwavering. "In my line of work, you don't hand people a map of your weaknesses. You don't show them exactly where to strike if they want to tear you apart. It’s like handing someone a loaded gun and pointing it at your own chest." He takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "But I'm handing it to you. The real story. No jokes, no operator mask. I'm trusting you with the only thing that can actually hurt me."
The admission lands somewhere deep. I reach for his hand. He lets me take it.
"For what it's worth," I say, "I'm glad you told me. About all of it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It helps. Knowing where the wounds are."
His fingers tighten on mine. "I could say the same about you. Daniel. The way he made you disappear."
The name still carries weight, even now. But less than it used to.
"I almost didn't leave," I admit. "Even after I found the texts—three women, the whole time we were together—I almost stayed. Because he spent so long convincing me that I couldn't trust my own judgment, that what I was seeing wasn't real."
"But you did leave."
"I did." I take a breath. "And then I found climbing. Found this version of myself that Daniel never touched. The version that hangs two hundred feet above nothing and feels more alive than she ever felt on the ground."
"That version saved both our lives."
"She did, didn't she?” The thought still feels strange. Wonderful, but strange. "I spent so long hiding her. Keeping her separate from the rest of my life. Like she was too wild, too intense, too much for normal people to handle."
Jon turns to face me fully. His expression has shifted—softer now, more open.
"You know what I see when I look at you?" His voice is low, serious. "A woman who walked into a kill site and walked back out. Who led a trained operator up a wall he never could've climbed alone. Who ran into her best friend's house knowing the cartel was hunting her, because protecting the people she loves matters more than protecting herself."
"Jon—"
"That's not too much. That's not too intense." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. "That's someone worth knowing. All of her. Every version."
The words hit somewhere that's been bruised for so long I forgot it could feel anything else.
"We're a mess," I whisper. "Both of us."
"Yeah." His mouth quirks. "But maybe we're the kind of mess that fits together."
He's close now. Close enough that I can see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his pupils have dilated in the fading light. Close enough that his breath warms my lips.
"There is one thing you could do for me," I say.
"Name it."
"Don't let me sleep alone tonight." I hold his gaze. "And maybe make up for the cramped accommodations on the cliff."
His eyes darken. Heat flares in them, barely controlled.
"Evie." His voice has gone rough. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here."
"I noticed." I smile. "I figured I'd have to ask. Or drag you to bed myself."
Something shifts in his expression. The gentleman disappears. What's left is the man I met in that cabin—dangerous, certain, absolutely in control.
"Sweetheart." He steps closer, crowding into my space. "There will be no dragging."
Before I can respond, he bends, catches me around the thighs, and hoists me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
I yelp. "Jon!"
