“And youstillwant him back,” he says, taking a step toward me. “Not the version you remember. The one he isnow.”
I don’t look away. “I want him.Allof him.”
Something flickers across Rook’s face. He exhales slowly. “Then you’re either the most dangerous kind of woman,” he says, “or the most foolish.”
“Probably both,” I say quietly.
A sharp laugh leaves him. He shakes his head once. “I can’t help you,” he says simply.
The words hit like a punch to the chest.
My breath stutters, and my heart drops straight into my stomach. For a split second, I feel like I’m back in that hotel room—helpless, miles away from Jude, grasping at threads that keep snapping.
Micah’s jaw tightens beside me.
I open my mouth anyway. “If it’s because of your brother—”
“It isn’t,” Rook interrupts. His voice is flat now.
I swallow. “Then I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
He looks at me sharply. Then he adds, almost casually,“However.”
Hope flares in my chest at his tone.
“I have a cousin,” he says. “He works for someone else here in New York. Someone who has spent the better part of a decade cleaning up messes made by Russians. And my cousin happens to be an impeccable hacker.Annoyinglygood. The kind of man who makes powerful peopleveryfucking nervous. That’s why he works for who he works for.”
My heart starts racing again, but this time it’s different. I don't want to get my hopes up just for them to be shot down.
“His boss,” Rook continues, eyes back on me, “is who you want. He can help you far better than I ever could.”
Relief floods me so fast it nearly knocks me over. “Thank you,” I breathe. “Thank you so much.”
Micah clears his throat. “How do we contact him?”
Rook’s mouth curves slowly as he looks at me. “You don’t.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I’ll text you.”
My brows knit together. “You…want my number?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “I’ll reach out to my cousin. When there’s something to say, you’ll hear from me.”
I take his phone, type my number into it, and hand it back.
“And the money—” Micah starts.
“Keep it,” Rook says, waving a hand. “You’ll need it for someone else, I’m sure.”
My mouth falls open. “Why?” I ask, genuinely stunned. “Why help us at all? Jude killed your brother.”
Rook tilts his head, studying me again. His gaze is intense and unflinching now. Honest in a way that makes me feel dissected. “My brother was an asshole,” he says plainly. “And he had it coming. If it wasn’t your boyfriend, it would have been someone else. Hell, perhaps even me.”
Heather makes a quiet, shocked noise.
“And,” Rook adds, softer now. “You’re an art therapist,” he says. “You use creation to help people survive their own minds.”
I nod slowly.
“I’m an artist,” he continues. “And my best friend killed himself three years ago. Mental health matters to me. More than revenge.”
