“Yes.” I hold her gaze. My thumbs still on her cheeks. “And we’ll fix that. But I need you to hear something.”
She goes still.
“You were furious with me when I used you as bait. And then I apologized and benched you from every field operation because I couldn’t stand the thought of you in danger again. You told me how that made you feel. That I was making choices for you instead of with you. I heard you. I changed.”
She holds my eyes. Neither of us moves.
“And then you spent six mornings lying beside me pretending to go under. Training alone with an ability neither of us understands. Coming back and saying nothing. Every one of those was a decision you made about our lives without me. I’m your partner, Celeste. Not someone you manage.”
The muscle at her temple jumps. Fresh tears. But, this has to be said. She opens her mouth and then closes it. Her hands come up and grip my wrists where I’m still holding her face.
“You’re right,” she says. Her voice cracks on the second word. “I know you’re right.”
“I know you do.” I press my forehead to hers. Let her breathe. She’s shaking, and I’m the reason, but I’m also the only thing she’s holding onto.
“I’m not making an excuse.” Her grip tightens on my wrists. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. Before you, before all of this. If there was a problem, I handled it. If something was wrong, I fixed it. Bringing someone else into that has never been how I operate.” She looks back at me. “That’s not an excuse. I know how it sounds. I know what it looks like.”
“It looks like what you accused me of.”
“Yes.” The word comes out steady even though her face is wet. “It does.” She meets my eyes. “And I’m not going to keep doing that. I mean it.”
I look at her for a long moment.
“I know you mean it,” I say.
She reaches for the back of my head.
I push her hair back from her face. She turns her cheek into my hand.
I pull her in. She slides off the desk, her forehead dropping to my shoulder. We stay like that for a while.
The ring will come back. But she’s with me now. And that’s what matters.
Chapter
Three
Iput on my jacket last.
Dark, fitted, the kind that sits close enough to move in and has inside pockets deep enough to matter. Underneath is a structured top, the neckline high enough to cover the absent chain. Fitted pants. Boots with real ankle support, broken in enough that they don’t announce themselves. The whole thing reads as deliberate without reading as armed. The Wax and Wane is neutral ground. You don’t walk in like you’re there to fight, and you don’t walk in soft. You walk in like you belong there and let everyone else figure out where you fit.
I check the jacket closure. In the mirror, my collar is straight, hair back. It’s fine.
I catch movement behind me.
Maximus is in the doorway.
I don’t know how long he’s been there. He’s dressed for this like he didn’t have to try. Dark jacket, no tie. He looks at me through the mirror and says nothing.
He crosses the room.
He stops behind me, close enough that the cool of him is at my back, and he reaches past my shoulder. His fingers adjust my collar, correcting something I’d missed. His hands stay there, resting lightly on my shoulders. In the mirror, his gaze moves, just once, to the hollow of my throat. Then back to my eyes. His eyes stay on mine.
“Ready.”
His hands slide down my arms once, slow, and drop.
“Kyle’s brought the car around.”
