“Alone is safer.”
“Alone is slower death.” He turned to face me properly. “I've been watching you tonight. Trying to figure out if working with you makes sense. Trying to decide if you're worth the risk.”
My chest tightened. “And?”
“And I think you're brilliant and damaged and absolutely convinced you're going to die doing this.” His gaze held mine. “I think you're one of the best investigators I've seen operate. I think you have a chance—a real chance—at bringing Harrow down.”
“But?”
“But I also think you'll destroy yourself getting there if someone doesn't stop you.” He paused. “So here's what I'm offering. Partnership. Real partnership. Not me watching from the sidelines while you burn yourself out. Not you managing information and keeping me at arm's length. Equal partners who cover each other's weaknesses.”
“I don't need?—”
“Yes, you do. And so do I.” His voice firmed.
“And what if working with me getsyoukilled?”
“Then we bleed together.” He said it like it was simple. Like it was obvious. “I'm not asking for compliance, Cal. I'm not asking you to play it safe or stop being who you are. I don't want you compliant. I want you here. Alive. Fighting beside me because together we're stronger than apart.”
“And if I'm here, you become a target.”
“Then we bleed together,” he repeated. “That's what partnership means. Not one person protecting the other by pushing them away. Both people choosing to face threats together.”
“I don't know how to do that,” I said quietly. “Don't know how to let someone matter without immediately planning for how they'll die because of me.”
“Then we figure it out. Together.” Dom's hand settled on my shoulder. Warm. Solid. Grounding. “But you don't get to make unilateral decisions about whether this partnership happens. I'm offering. You're accepting or you're not. But you don't get to say no because you're trying to protect me from my own choices.”
I stared at him. At the certainty in his face. At the offer hanging between us like something that could either save me or destroy us both.
“You're going to regret this,” I said.
“Maybe.” But he was smiling. “But I'd rather regret trying than regret watching you destroy yourself alone. So what's it going to be, Cal? Partners or not?”
I stared at him. At the offer. At the particular insanity of someone choosing to walk into my disaster deliberately.
“Partners,” I said finally. “But when this goes wrong—when Harrow uses me against you or vice versa—you don't get to say I didn't warn you.”
“Deal.” His smile widened. “Now come on. I'm taking you home. Your actual home. Where you're going to sleep in an actual bed for at least six hours.”
“I don't need?—”
“Yes, you do. And now that we're partners, you're going to let me help.” He started walking back toward the car. “Unless you want to renegotiate already. Which seems inefficient.”
“You're insufferable.”
“You're exhausting.” But he said it like a compliment. “Get in the car, Cal. Let your partner take care of you for once.”
I should have argued. Should have insisted I was fine, that I didn't need taking care of, that accepting help was weakness I couldn't afford.
Instead I followed him back to my car and let him drive me home through London's dark streets while exhaustion finally dragged me under. Let myself trust, just this once, that maybe bleeding together was better than bleeding alone.
Even if the thought terrified me more than anything Harrow could do.
Especially then.
