The man from Brussels, Vanderwaal, stepped forward, his face flushed. “So she gets a room, and we get what? Chairs?”
Juliette didn't even blink. She turned the full weight of her executive stare on him. “You get priority on the next safe transfer out. I’m removing myself from the queue so you can have it. I’m sure you’ll survive the injustice of a slightly more comfortable departure.”
The man sputtered and retreated.
Juliette had found the pressure point in the room and removed herself from it, reducing Sarah’s burden while doubling mine. As long as she was here, I couldn’t file her underdepartedand move on.
“Sarah, update the manifest,” I said. “I’ll secure the interior room.”
I grabbed the small kit Sarah held out and gestured for Juliette to follow. The room was behind the library, tucked into a quiet wing of the original stone structure. It was small. The walls were thick plaster, the floor polished concrete. There was a narrow bed, a single lamp, and a small wooden desk. The window was high and fitted with iron shutters. It was defensible.
I went in first. The window latch held. The interior lock caught clean. The office handset gave me two bars and a clear channel.
Juliette stood in the center of the small space, watching me.
“Is this the official Mara Khaya turndown service?” she asked. Her voice was dry, but there was a tremor in it.
“No.”
“Shame. The menace is memorable.”
I stopped at the foot of the bed. The room was so small that my presence seemed to displace the air. Her scent had nowhere to go in a room that size.
“You took yourself off the list,” I said.
“I solved a problem,” she countered.
“You became one.”
Juliette stepped toward me. “Then stop pretending I’m only a guest.”
“You are a guest.”
“No,” she said. “I’m the woman who stayed.”
“I can’t do my job if one part of me keeps listening for you.” My hand tightened on the radio. “I know where every vehicle is, every ranger, every guest waiting for transfer. And I still keep checking whereyouare.”
“That sounds like your job,” she said.
“Not like this.” Her shoulders stayed squared. Chin up. No retreat. “I can’t afford to want you safer than everyone else.”
My hand locked on the edge of the desk, the wood grain rough enough to snag the skin.
“Then stop pretending,” she said again. She reached out, her fingers brushing the back of my hand. “I’m here because I chose to be.”
I set the radio down on the small desk. The sound of the plastic hitting wood was final.
“If I touch you right now,” I said, my voice rough, “I’m not going to be polite enough to make it look casual.”
“Good.”
“That isn't an answer, Juliette.”
“Yes.” She stepped into my space, close enough that her breath hit my mouth. “Yes.”
That was the answer. I caught the back of her neck and pulled her in.
The kiss had no goodbye in it. No careful edge. This was the pressure after the road, after the rhino, after watching her sit still in a vehicle while every instinct in me cataloged distance and impact. She was here. Under my hands. Breathing.
