Her eyes searched his, reading him with an intensity that would have been unnerving from anyone else. From her, it felt like coming home. "You're worth everything, Jae."
The words hit him in the only way this woman could hit him, deep into his mind, body, and soul, stealing his breath. He'd always been a man who moved forward, who created momentum where others hesitated. But this was different. This was staying. This was choosing to be still, to be present, to be vulnerable.
“Fuck, babe,” he whispered, drawing her gloriously naked body deeper into his embrace, the feel of her skin like nourishment. “My mom used to say that to me.”
“Well, she had to. She was your mom.”
He barked out a laugh. “Gee, thanks. I feel all warm and fuzzy now.”
She chuckled. “That’s not what I meant. Moms can sometimes be that way, and other times blindside you with surprises you weren’t prepared for.”
“Your mom was like that?”
“She was CIA, right up to the day she died on a mission, and we never knew. She kept it from me and my dad. It gutted him. He has always been my rock, gave me a fantastic childhood with an extended family I adore.” She was quiet for a moment. “I started getting this feeling that she wasn’t telling us everything. Maybe it was the Veil reaching out through me, but I sensed she was withholding, actively choosing not to let me in. The person who trusted me most chose not to trust me fully.”
“I’m sorry, Killa.”
She nodded, looked up at him, traced his mouth with her thumb, and his breath held. “I guess that’s why I’m the way I am. Even the people closest to me decide what I can handle.” She shrugged.
“You felt you needed a layer of independence, huh? Hating that your mom left you unaware, and you only found out who she was when they put that star on the wall?”
She shrugged again. “Love doesn’t guarantee transparency.”
“No, it doesn’t. It can lead to control and awareness, and if you’re guarded, you can’t be blindsided again.”
She blinked, regarding him slowly, then whispered, “I want to see you, know you, Flash. Everything. I crave it so deeply, I’m afraid if you hide anything from me, I’ll do something terrible.” She took a shuddering breath, pulled his head down, and kissedhim hard. He threaded his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her mouth against his while he took her pain, softness, need into him like oxygen. She eased away, rubbing her palm over his chakana, and he could feel hers ignite, but he was grateful that the overwhelming sexual energy was spent. “Trust is always risky and sometimes unreliable. Control is the only constant. Look at what happened with Cisco and Quri. They had hidden truths, barriers to information, and emotional blindsides.”
“Ah, babe, they were in a bad place in history, their lives dictated by their cultures and conquistador greed. Unknown truth is not always betrayal.” He toyed with the heavy silk of her hair.
She closed her eyes, and her throat worked. “So, trust is a choice, not a guarantee. You think I can survive that with you?”
“I think so, but there’s one thing I do know.”
She cupped his face, running her palm over his stubble. “What’s that?”
“You’re no longer alone, and I want access to you, all of you. My brothers taught me that connection isn't a liability to manage. It's the thing that keeps you alive. Every risk we face, they have our backs. Always,” he said, the words simple, direct, unadorned. Just the truth, laid bare between them. “We’re defying command by not bringing you in, and don’t think that’s not killing us to go against mission orders. I asked them to trust me, I showed them why, and they were all in.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't look away. She buried her face in his neck. “Then I’ll have yours, and theirs,” she whispered. “That’s a promise.”
He leaned in to kiss her, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Wait. There’s been plenty of that. I want to know more about you."
He froze, his body tensing with a familiar instinct to move, to break the tension, to fill the silence. But then he looked at her, at the steady resolve in her eyes, at the quiet strength in her posture, and he made a choice. “I come from a family of debaters. My mom and dad are professors of rhetoric.”
“That explains so very much.”
“Hey…” he said, “Two Killa jokes in this century. I don’t know if I can handle it.” He grinned. “My main memory as to why I’m who I am stems from a birthday party.”
She brushed his arm as his voice dropped. “Tell me about it.”
“My little brother. He wasn’t cut out for debate. It caused him so much anxiety, and I couldn’t stand that, so I broke the tension with a joke, deflected, steered everything into a different direction.”
“You learned how to shift the energy before it got too heavy?”
“Yeah. My dad didn’t let things go. He pushed, questioned, pressed for clarity, and to me, that sometimes felt like being pinned in place.”
“And your mom?”
“She was even better at balancing a beach ball on her nose than I am.”
