I don’t respond. Because that’s the part I can’t argue with.
He steps closer. “Archer. If they’ve identified her as a variable in your behavior, you understand what that means.”
“Yes,” I say.
“It means she’s not just collateral anymore.”
“I know.”
“It means she’s leverage.”
My jaw tightens.
“I said I know.”
Conrad holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods once. “Then you already know what you have to do.”
I don’t answer immediately. Because I do. And I don’t like it. Protect her. Without pattern. Without recognition. Without connection.
I turn away before the conversation can go further. Because the more this develops, the less room I have to stay detached. And detachment is the only thing keeping her alive.
9
TESSA
By the time I decide to ask for help, I’ve already convinced myself I don’t need it. Which is, statistically speaking, how I end up needing it.
The back door of the bookstore is worse than I thought.
It doesn’t just stick—it sags slightly in the frame, like it’s been forced open too many times and never properly repaired. The lock barely aligns, and every time I try it, it catches at an angle that makes my teeth grind.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Nope. Not happening.”
I sigh.
“Fine.”
Archer is the obvious choice. Which is irritating. Because I don’t want him to be the obvious choice. I head across the street anyway.
The mechanic shop is open like usual, the smell of oil and metal hitting me as soon as I step inside. It’s quieter than I expected. Just a few tools clinking in the background.
Archer is under a car. Of course he is.
“Hey,” I call.
He slides out slowly, wiping his hands. His eyes land on me immediately, like I’ve interrupted something that required full focus. Which, honestly, I might have.
“What,” he says.
Not a question. Just… a statement of endurance.
I cross my arms. “My back door is broken.”
A pause.
Then: “And?”
I blink. “And I need it fixed.”
