“Cleaner, then.”
Nate leaned toward me. “I hate when the suits make sense.”
“He’s wearing a cut.”
“Suit energy.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Upstairs, something thumped.
Regan moved first.
Edge was faster.
Both of them were gone up the stairs before the rest of us fully registered the sound.
I took one step without meaning to.
Then stopped myself.
Not mine.
Not my room.
Not my girl.
Never my girl.
Nate saw the step.
Of course he did.
His voice dropped. “Careful, brother.”
I stared at the staircase.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
I looked at him then.
For once, he wasn’t joking.
Nate nodded toward the room, toward the men, toward Edge upstairs, toward the entire mess unfolding around one injured girl with fire in her blood and half a town ready to throw her on the pyre.
“She’s not just forbidden,” he said quietly. “She’s radioactive.”
I should have laughed.
I didn’t.
Because upstairs, Destiny cried out softly, and the sound went through me like a blade.
Radioactive.
Forbidden.
