22
RAVENSWOOD’S MERCY
DOMINIC
Ifound Troy in the east wing. Three in the morning. The hour when Ravenswood went quiet and men like us stopped pretending sleep was an option.
He was cleaning weapons. Methodical. Precise.
“Can't sleep either?” I asked.
“Sleep's for people who don't have problems.” Troy didn't look up. “You here for conversation or company?”
“Advice.” The word tasted strange. I didn't ask for advice. Didn't admit when situations exceeded my capacity to handle them. But Cal had shattered every rule I'd built about self-sufficiency.
Troy set down the gun he'd been working on and gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Talk.”
I sat and stared at my hands. I tried to find words for the thing eating me from the inside out.
“I don't know what to do with him,” I said finally. “With Cal. He makes me feel reckless. Like I'd burn the world down if it meant keeping him safe. And that terrifies me because I'vespent years being the person who doesn't get reckless. Who stays controlled.”
“You're in love with him.” Troy said it like observation. Like fact. “That's what love does. Makes you reckless. Makes you stupid. Makes you care more about one person than your own survival.”
“I can't afford to be that person. Not in this world. Not with what we do.”
“Then you've got a choice. Walk away. Or accept that loving someone means occasional stupidity in service of keeping them breathing.” Troy picked up another gun. Started the disassembly process. “But here's the thing nobody tells you: you don't have to forgive him to understand him. And you don't have to trust him completely to decide he's yours to protect.”
“He fed information to Harrow's people.” The words came out flat. “About Ravenswood. About security protocols. He made a trade to save someone and put all of us at risk.”
Troy's hands stilled. “Did he know it would compromise us?”
“He thought he was being clever. Giving partial information. Incomplete details. But he couldn't have known for certain it wouldn't be enough for them to piece together vulnerabilities.”
“So he gambled with our safety for someone else's life.”
“Yes.”
“And now you're angry because he didn't trust you enough to help him find a better solution.” Troy looked at me directly. “Or because he proved he's exactly as damaged and self-destructive as you feared.”
Both. Neither. The truth was more complicated than either option allowed.
“I don't know if I can do this,” I admitted. “Be with someone who operates like partnership is optional. Who makes unilateral decisions that affect everyone and then acts surprised when people are hurt by it.”
“Then don't.” Troy's voice was matter-of-fact. “Walk away. Find someone less complicated. Someone who doesn't come with trauma and death wish and photographic memory full of horrors.”
“I can't.”
“Then you've answered your own question.” He returned to cleaning. “You protect him. You try to teach him better habits. And you prepare yourself for the reality that he might never learn. That loving him means constant vigilance because he'll keep trying to martyr himself until either he succeeds or you break.”
“That's bleak.”
“That's honest. Which is what you came here for.” Troy glanced up. “But here's the other side: men like Cal don't let people in easily. If he's let you past his walls, if he's shown you the soft parts underneath all that bullshit, that means something. Means you matter enough to terrify him. And terrified people do stupid things.”
“Like trading Ravenswood's security for a broker.”
“Like that, yes.” Troy set down the gun. Leaned back. “You taking it to Adrian?”
“Already did.”
