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The combination is too much. I come hard, crying out, and he holds me through it, body shaking. My forehead drops against his shoulder, and for several seconds I’m incapable of doing anything except breathe against his skin while the room gradually puts itself back together around me.

He lets go, pulsing inside me, a rush of heat and satisfaction. His arms tighten around me, and I feel content to stay exactly here for all of eternity.

Eventually, we collapse together, a tangle of limbs and aftershocks. He buries his face in my hair and laughs, spent and delirious.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” His fingers trace an absent path along my back.

I tip my head up to look at him. “Clearly something.”

He turns his face enough to kiss my temple. “I’m just really fucking glad you had another hypothesis.”

A laugh escapes me.

I should be taking stock. The consequences. The complications. What happens tomorrow, what this means for the case, what it means for us. There are at least twelve separate problems waiting for my attention, and under ordinary circumstances, I would already be halfway through the list.

But Baryn’s arm is heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my neck, and for once, my mind is quiet.

19

PLAYBACK

BARYN

At 6:04 AM, my phone starts vibrating on the nightstand.

I’m already awake.

I stare at it without reaching for it, one leg hanging off the side of the bed.

The phone stops.

Three seconds later, it starts again.

Of course it does.

“Baryn.” Cebastian doesn’t bother with hello.

I know that tone. Something has gone wrong, and I’m about to find out how much of it he intends to make my problem.

“Morning, Cebastian.” My voice comes out rough enough that I clear my throat. Behind me, Serena shifts beneath the blankets, and I glance back at her, still not entirely over the fact that she’s here.

“I need an update.” His mouse clicks in the background. “Stillwater is burning budget and oxygen.” I pull the phone a few inches away from my ear. Speakerphone is optional when Cebastian is involved.

It’s a small miracle that Serena doesn’t wake up right then, or that she doesn’t lunge across the mattress and strangle me for letting Cebastian’s voice enter her auditory field this early in the morning. Instead, she rolls deeper into the nest of sheets, her profile settling into the mattress with a small exhalation that sounds like the world’s most understated fuck you.

I want to crawl back in next to her. Instead, I brace my palm against the cold metal of the bed frame and stand.

“The story is where it was last week,” I say. “You know. The last time you asked.”

Serena gave me more of herself in that interview than she probably realizes. I’m not putting any of it into the world until I’m sure the timing won’t make her regret trusting me with it.

“Let’s pivot from narrative immersion to actionable content, Baryn. Listeners don’t care about the process. They want a payoff.” He lets that hang in the air, waiting for me to fill the silence with either a promise or an excuse.

I give him neither.

After four beats, he cracks. “Look, the numbers aren't where they should be. You know this. You've left your audience hanging for weeks. If we don't have a new episode before the end of the month, I’m going to sunset the project.”