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“You deserved everything before you met me.” Rook’s arms tightened around him. “I just get to be the one who gives it to you.”

Ethan’s phone buzzed one more time. It was Julian asking if they wanted Thai food for dinner. Rook’s phone immediately echoed with the same message, followed by Cillian asking what time they’d be back.

“We should go,” Ethan said, finally forcing himself to move. “We had ninety minutes total, and we’ve used approximately forty-five of them already.”

“Best forty-five minutes of my life.”

“The sex or watching me quit my job?”

“Both. Equally.” Rook pulled on his clothes while his shadows reluctantly released Ethan. “You pack. I’ll handle the kitchen chaos.”

Ethan finished filling his bag, leaving behind anything that didn’t serve a clear purpose in his new life. The anxiety workbook went in - he might not need it anymore, but Julian would find the methodology interesting. He added a few of his favorite books, his laptop, and enough clothes for two weeks.

Everything else could stay for now. He could put it all into storage once the current threats were neutralized… none of it is important in the grand scheme of things. Zipping his bag, Ethan carried it through to the living room, where Rook had filled two trash bags with expired food.

“Your refrigerator wasn’t a biohazard yet, but it was close.” Rook tied off the second bag. “Also, you owned a single egg. One. Just one egg sitting in the carton by itself.”

“I think I used the rest for French toast two weeks ago.”

“That’s so sad, I don’t even know where to start.”

“It was perfectly adequate French toast, although you do make it better.”

“We’re getting you real food.” Rook grabbed both trash bags and Ethan’s bag like they weighed nothing. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Twenty-One

At 1:47 a.m. the next day, Rook sat in the surveillance van a block from Ashford’s suburban estate, watching Silas’s body cam feed while his shadows coiled restlessly around Ethan’s wrist. The contact helped, but barely. Every instinct screamed at him to be closer, to position himself between Ethan and any potential threat, to eliminate Richard Ashford from existence before the man could take another breath of the same air as his precious mate.

“Breathe,” Ethan said without looking away from the displays. “You need to keep breathing if you’re going to look remotely human.”

“I am breathing.”

“You stopped approximately forty seconds ago.”

Rook forced air into his lungs. Ethan’s fingers found his, threading them together where their hands rested on the console.

“Thorn’s in position already,” Ethan said quietly, checking between the different monitors. “Cillian and Julian are holding at Milwaukee’s perimeter. Both units are ready to breach on Silas’s confirmation.”

The plan was simple. Silas would disable Ashford’s dead man’s switch from the server in Ashford’s basement, then Rook and Ethan would head to Epsilon, so that they could hit all three facilities simultaneously before anyone could evacuate victims or destroy evidence.

The timing, at least when they’d discussed it back at Shadow House, had been perfect. Ashford was attending a council event, the type of social event that often went on until well after midnight, which meant he wouldn’t be home. He had a small, serviced apartment in town where he stayed those nights.

Silas’s feed showed him approaching the house through shadow cover, his form barely visible even on thermal imaging. The exterior security system might as well have been decorative - motion sensors didn’t register guardian movement, and cameras would show nothing but suburban darkness.

Lights glowed in several windows of the house. They’d already been noted, and it was decided they were probably timer-activated. Rich people paranoid about burglaries always left lights on when they were out at night.

But something didn’t feel right, and that feeling was growing. Rook’s shadows tightened around Ethan’s wrist.

“Second-story window,” Silas’s voice came through their earpieces, barely a whisper. “Clean entry. Moving to…fuck…wait.”

Rook leaned forward. Silas’s body cam showed a hallway, expensive artwork on the walls, and a thick carpet that would likely muffle footsteps. Through an open doorway at the end of the hall, light spilled out from what had to be the study.

“He’s home.” Silas’s voice carried disbelief. “Ashford’s in his study.”

“That’s not possible,” Ethan said, pulling up the city council’s schedule. “The schedule shows he was marked as attending the gala. He can’t be…”

“I don’t care what that says. He’s home right now, shredding documents.” Silas moved closer to the doorway, his angle shifting. The feed showed a man in shirtsleeves feeding papers into an industrial shredder, other documents scattered across a mahogany desk. Hard drives sat in a pile, one already cracked open. “He clearly knows something’s wrong.”