Page 73 of Cold Mercy

“I’m not selling anything,” I murmur. “Just saying what I see.”

She nods once, like she’s filing that away somewhere she won’t touch again. For a moment, we stand in silence, the lights humming above us.

“You’re… not a terrible companion,” she adds after a beat, eyes back on the tree. “When you’re not staring like you’re assessing someone. Or wearing that smug, infuriating grin.”

A quiet breath leaves me, half a laugh. “I’ll take that as progress.”

She tilts her head, considering.

“On a good day,” she says, almost reluctantly, “I could imagine enjoying that version of you. That ‘boring’ side you hate so much…turns out, it’s not boring at all.”

I didn’t even know I had a quiet side left. But she found it. She dug it out without even trying. And the realization that she might actually want both versions of me…it floors me. I never thought I’d be allowed to be both.

“Dangerous thought,” I whisper.

“I know,” she replies calmly. “That’s why I don’t entertain it often.”

She shifts her weight, boots scraping softly against the pavement.

“I haven’t seen this tree in two years,” she says, almost to herself. “I used to love it. No matter what was going on…this felt comforting.”

I glance up at the lights. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I always hated it,” I say.

That draws her attention. One eyebrow rises and her eyes narrow in a performance of mock insult, but the ghost of a smile on her lips gives her away.

“Hated it?”

“Too many people pretending they’re fine for one night, always felt fake.” I admit

She studies me, then lets out a small breath. “And today?”

I shrug. “Today I tolerate it better than usual.”

Her eyes flick back to the tree, then to me, just briefly. “Why?”

The obvious answer sits right between us, but I don’t say it.

“Guess I’m in a charitable mood.”

She hums, clearly unconvinced, but doesn’t push. Her shoulder drifts closer, not touching, just close enough to shift the air.

The drive back is quiet, the kind of silence you don’t want to break. As we pull up to the house and step out, Sophia turns to me with a soft smile.

“I invite you inside, sir,” she says with a playful voice, pushing the front door open.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I reply, stepping over the threshold behind her.

It's weird, but I don't feel like an intruder or an operative on a clock. I feel like I finally belong somewhere. I walk straight to the fireplace, dropping to my knees to start a fire as if I've lived here for years.

“I should probably mention,” Sophia says, her voice drifting over my shoulder as she watches me work, “that while the table looked fancy, my actual dinner plan for tonight was just...pizza. But trust me, if I had known you were coming, I promise I would have put a lot more effort in.”

I can hear the slight embarrassment in her tone, which makes me smile to myself as I strike the match. It's like a quiet admission, but it tells me everything I have been too terrified to believe; that she cares for me, even if she has spent every waking moment trying to convince us both otherwise. I see that she wants my presence here just as desperately as I have been craving hers. I feel more like a whole man standing in her living room in a stupid sweater than I ever did wearing my badge. The reality of being with her is so much better than any version of the world I ever tried to build without her.

“Pizza? How did you know? I was literally thinking about how bad I want to eat that,” I say, finally standing and turning to face her.