Instead, I filed it away and did my own inventory. If the meeting request was intercepted before it reached him, the breach wasn’t external. It was internal. Which meant Grace wasn’t just a wanted baby—she was bait, a variable someone had already plugged into the equation and set to detonate.
The lollipop stuck to the inside of my molars. I kept my face blank, held the kid a little tighter, and tried not to think about the number of ways this could go wrong.
Braham put his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the far wall. “We’re moving a team to Ridgeline. They’ll sweep for loose ends.”
I said, “Don’t bother with the front door. They’ll be waiting.”
He glanced at me, and I saw the moment he re-ran the plan with that new piece of data. “Noted,” he said.
We didn’t talk after that. Not for a while.
I watched the way his shoulders dropped, a half-inch maybe, like something had finally reached under the armor. I knew the feeling. I’d worn that weight before, in other cities, with other lost causes.
The baby stirred in my arms, yawned, and went limp again. I held her until I could feel my own pulse drop back below panic. I did not, for a single second, trust anyone in this building. But I was willing to admit: there were worse places to be.
The next bit was almost a relief: direct orders. I’d been halfway through assembling a bottle—who knew babies could smell formula from across the room—when Braham came over, leaned in, and said, “You’ll stay here.”
Not a question. Not even a request. Just a statement so flat it erased all the usual preamble and I had to wonder why we were having this conversation again.
“Is that your alpha voice, or do you just enjoy the sound of your own logistics?”
He ignored that. “If you separate, she will not survive the stress.”
I twisted the cap on the bottle, checked the temperature against the inside of my wrist, and kept my own voice level. “You going to keep me here on a leash, or just trust the magic of maternal instinct?”
He looked at me—really looked, the way only a man who has killed and lost and not quite learned the difference ever can. “I’d rather you stayed by choice.”
I snorted. “What makes you think I’ve got a choice left?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. There was no impatience, no threat. Just that dense, glacier-solid presence I’d come to recognize as his default setting.
I said, “You know I’m not pack. I don’t answer to you, or your laws, or whatever you think the mate thing means.”
“I know,” he said, softer this time.
“Then why care?”
He looked down at Grace, her face bunched in hungry expectation. “Because you’re not disposable. And neither is she.”
It was the first thing he’d said all day that sounded like it cost him.
I picked up the baby, settled her in the crook of my arm, and started feeding her. The entire time, Braham just stood there,not watching, not hovering, but making it very clear that he would not be the one to leave first.
I said, “I’ll give you one night. After that, we talk terms.”
He nodded. “One night.”
I expected him to push. He didn’t. Just turned and walked away, every inch of him radiating the fact that he didn’t need to win every fight—just the ones that mattered.
Ashe materialized by the door, as if summoned by the mere concept of transition. “Guest suite is ready,” he said. No preamble, no idle threat. Just pure efficiency.
I followed him down the main hall, baby balanced on my hip, duffel over my shoulder. The guest suite was at the far end, isolated, its own bathroom and a second set of blackout windows. There was a travel bassinet already set up, sheets crisp, supplies squared away on the dresser. No decor, no attempt at comfort. Just the facts.
Ashe lingered at the threshold, eyes scanning the room before settling on me. “If you need anything, dial zero on the phone. Security will answer.”
I said, “Thanks. You always this cheerful?”
He almost smiled. “No.” He left, closing the door with the same quiet certainty he did everything.
