She didn't argue, just gathered her things and followed me to my truck.
When we pulled up to Sofia's house, the old woman was waiting on the porch with a knowing smile and two steaming cups of hot chocolate. "Made the old-fashioned way." That meant the drinks were thick enough to stand a spoon in, made with real dark chocolate.
"You'll stay for breakfast," Sofia informed Nadia, holding out a mug that featured two kittens playing with a ball of string. "I'll make eggs. Real eggs, not that powdered nonsense."
Nadia laughed. The first genuine laugh I'd heard from her all day. "I'd love that."
It felt like minutes after we'd finished our hot drinks before Nadia fell asleep in my arms. As I held her, watching her breathe, I felt the weight of what we were building together.
Tomorrow, Malakai and the others would have information. Tomorrow, we'd start fighting back. Tomorrow, we'd figure out how to beat Elevate at their own game.
But tonight, this was enough. Her in my arms, choosing to trust me with the weight she carried, before she'd even decided what to call the man carrying it.
Whatever name this thing ended up wearing, neither of us was facing it alone.
TEN
NADIA
To be clear, Sunday dinner had not been my idea. My mother had heard about Daemon within a week, courtesy of the express line running from Sofia's church group straight to her quilting circle. The invitation arrived with the wording of a request and the structure of an order.
I could have explained that we weren't putting names on anything yet. I could also have saved my breath. In my mother's world, a man either came to Sunday dinner, or he was hiding something, and I'd decided the dinner was easier to manage than the alternative theory.
When we pulled up outside my parents' place, I reached across the truck and straightened Daemon's collar for the third time since he'd picked me up. "You need to stop fidgeting."
"I'm not fidgeting," he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
"You are. And there's no need." I caught his hand, stilling it. "They're going to love you."
"You don't know that." He turned into the driveway of my parents' modest ranch house, the one I'd grown up in. "What if your dad hates me? What if I say something stupid? What if?—"
"Daemon." I waited until he looked at me. "Breathe. It's Sunday dinner, not a military tribunal."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one with a record meeting a veteran."
My heart squeezed at the vulnerability in his voice. This was the side of Daemon Booth that Coogan's Break didn't see. The man who cared so much about doing right that he tied himself in knots over it.
"My dad's going to judge you on who you are now, not who you were." I leaned over and kissed him quickly. "And right now, you're the man who showed up when I needed help. And who fed me lasagna and called in favors and didn't let me face things on my own. That's who matters."
He took a breath, nodded, and climbed out of the truck.
The front door opened before we'd made it halfway up the walk. My mother stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, her face lighting up when she saw us.
"Nadia! And you must be Daemon." She pulled me into a hug first, then surprised Daemon by doing the same. "Come in, come in. Dinner's almost ready, and Holly's already here with the kids."
Inside, the house smelled like Sunday dinner always did. Roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables from the garden, and my mother's famous apple pie. My dad sat in his recliner, reading glasses perched on his nose as he worked through the newspaper's crossword puzzle. He looked up when we entered, his expression unreadable.
"Dad, this is Daemon Booth. Daemon, my father, Carl Becker."
Daemon crossed the room, hand extended. "Mr. Becker, it's an honor to meet you. Nadia told me about your service."
My father stood and shook Daemon's hand with a firm grip. "She's told me about you too. You work for Lucky Break Construction?"
"Yes, sir. Three years now."
"Ethan Hunter's outfit?"
"That's right."
