I look toward the interview room, toward the file, toward the hallway that leads back to the bullpen and three more reports I could pretend are urgent enough to keep me here. For years, staying late was a way to avoid going back to nothing. Then it became habit. Then armor. Then a joke everyone made because no one wanted to ask why I never seemed eager to leave.
Tonight, Kade's outside. Emrys is outside. Someone's waiting for me because they want me home.
It's still strange enough to make my chest hurt. I hand Reyes the duplicate notes. "Log this before the federal pickup. Don't let anyone route it through Morrison's old channels."
She rolls her eyes. "Yes, Detective Emotionally Compromised. I do know how to do my job."
"I'm not emotionally compromised."
"Go before I text Emrys that you're being difficult."
I grab my coat from the back of my chair, shut down my screen, and walk out before the old reflex can convince me that one more file matters more than the people waiting at the curb.
The night's cold enough to bite. The station lights spill across the parking lot, catching on wet pavement and the hood of Kade's SUV parked near the entrance. Kade leans against the passenger door with his arms folded, black coat open over his shirt, cedar already reaching me before I cross half the lot. Emrys stands beside him in a soft sweater and one of Kade's scarves, both hands wrapped around a bakery box like he's prepared to use pastries as a weapon if I don't move fast enough.
The second he sees me, his face brightens.
I can't help it. I smile so wide it feels unfamiliar. Kade sees it first. His expression changes, the stern line of his mouth softening as he pushes off the car. Emrys lifts the box in both hands.
"I brought donuts," he calls. "Because apparently interrogation makes you forget dinner."
"I had coffee."
"That's not dinner."
"It was terrible coffee, which should count twice."
Kade reaches me before Emrys can argue. One hand comes to the back of my neck, and he kisses me hard enough that the cold, the station, and Declan's voice all drop out of reach for a second. It's not for show. Kade doesn't perform. It's just his mouth on mine, cedar around me, his thumb steady beneath my ear, and the quiet certainty of being collected by someone who's decided I'm worth coming for.
When he pulls back, I have to breathe before I can speak. "Hi."
"Hi," he says.
Emrys makes a pleased sound beside us. "My turn."
I lean down, and he catches my face with one hand, donut box tucked against his hip with the other. His kiss is softer than Kade's but no less certain, warm and sweet and faintly powdered-sugar scented because of course he sampled something on the way here. He pulls back smiling.
"You were late," he says.
"I was being professionally menaced."
"By Declan?"
"And Reyes."
"Reyes is allowed."
Kade opens the back door and takes the bakery box from Emrys. "Did he give you anything?"
"Enough to know we're not done," I say.
Emrys's smile fades, but he doesn't fold. He reaches for my hand, fingers sliding between mine. "But not tonight?"
I squeeze his hand. "Not tonight."
"Good." He tugs me toward the SUV. "Then you're coming home, and we're eating donuts in bed because Kade said no and I heard maybe."
Kade looks at him over the roof of the car. "That's not what happened."
