The second vibration hit three seconds later. Nick didn't check the screen before reaching for it, setting the slide down to pick up the phone on the second vibration. His thumb moved in a single, fluid burst to type a response, his posture never breaking as he handled the intrusion without a single glance in my direction to see if I was annoyed.
Sofia, then. The only person allowed to breach Nick Mercer before coffee.
The silence held for exactly four seconds. Then my own phone screamed for attention.
Summer [Incoming Call].
I tapped the screen, the blue light of the display cutting through the morning sky. I didn't move away from the table.
"It’s after midnight in Maris Key, Summer," I said, my voice softening just enough for her to hear the shift. "You should be sleeping."
"I’m getting there. Just wanted to make sure you had the final numbers for the acquisitions meeting." My sister’s voice crackled over the line. “You’re still on the 9:30 out tomorrow, right?”
A small silence passed between us, the kind Summer never wasted unless she was deciding how hard to press. "Everything okay over there? You sound... distant. Or maybe just quiet."
The snick-click of the slide paused.
"The connection is thin, Summer. It’s a big continent."
"Right. Well. Try to get some actual sleep tonight. Brynn’s bringing the good coffee. You’ll need it. Daisy will pick you up at the airport. See you at the office?"
Daisy. Perfect. Competent, cheerful, and not one of my sisters. I might make it from baggage claim to Maris Key without anyone conducting an emotional autopsy before coffee.
"I’ll be there. Goodnight, Sum."
I ended the call. When Nick finally looked up, the sidearm still rested loose in his hands, his gaze steady on mine.
"Tomorrow," he said.
"Tomorrow," I confirmed.
The word was a deadline.
I stood and walked back into the open expanse of the suite. My suitcase sat on the luggage rack—a black Tumi abyss at the foot of the bed. Crisp white shirts and tailored trousers filled it—the uniform of a woman who knew exactly where she belonged, but in this room, they looked like a costume.
The silk blazer came next, cold beneath my fingers. I folded it carefully, edge to edge, pressing each seam flat until my knuckles ached.
Nick moved past me to retrieve his khaki shirt from the floor.
He didn’t rush. He simply bent, picked it up, and paused beside the luggage rack while I folded another shirt into a precise white square.
“Juliette.”
My hands stopped. The blazer went still beneath my palms. He stood close enough that the clean cotton in my suitcase felt absurd. Bare chest. Laced boots. Sidearm secured.
His gaze dropped to the suitcase, then came back to me. “Last night doesn’t get packed away with the rest of it,” he said.
It was the closest thing to a hand held out, and I had no idea what to do with it.
The bathroom gave me thirty seconds and a mirror I regretted looking into. My hair had slipped from its pins, one dark strand stuck to my cheek. My mouth looked too soft at the edges. Two faint marks sat low on my throat, exactly where a collar would not hide them.
Cold water hit my skin. Nothing about Nick Mercer washed away. I only needed enough composure to walk back into the room and look him in the eye.
By the time I walked back out, I was buttoned up. Nick stood near the entrance, his shirt on but not yet fastened, holster strapped over his ribs like a secondary skeleton. He checked the chamber.
The ranger’s uniform was coming back together, one piece at a time.
His gaze lifted to meet mine, holding a level of focus that wasn't distant so much as it was devastatingly steady.
