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Diarmuid’s gaze snaps up to mine, his eyes wide.
“Victor’s father was the Hand, and so was his father before him, on and on,” I continue. “If the Fist rests at Newgrange, I’d bet everything that they’re burying the council members there. If we can find even one name, we can trace their descendants to current family members and uncover the council. We can go above Victor’s head. We could find a way to take control.”
I feel like panting after spilling everything out so quickly. It all makes sense, and I’m so proud of myself. Weeks of being stumped, and finally, one clue unlocked the whole puzzle. I’ve done it. I’ve cracked it.
Diarmuid places the pages I gave him carefully on top of my desk, but his expression is grave.
“I told you to keep this door locked,” he says quietly.
My head snaps up, disbelief flaring inside me. The triumph I felt moments ago vanishes. “Are you fucking serious?” I yell, my voice echoing off the walls as the papers in my arms scatter in all directions.
His face hardens. “Yes, I’m serious. Selene, you’re so focused on unraveling this conspiracy that you’re forgetting the risks. The door was open. Victor could have sent anyone in here, and you’d be none the wiser until it was too late.” He marches away and locks the door before returning to me.
“And you think that’s more important than what I just showed you?” I pace in a tight circle, seething with frustration. “I’m onto something huge, Diarmuid! We have a real chance of uncovering the council. Why can’t you see that?”
“I do see that, but none of it will matter if you’re dead.” He steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “This isn’t some academic exercise where we can afford to be careless. You and Niamh are doing everything possible to get yourselves killed.”
I bristle, my nails digging into my palms. “Do you really think I’m being reckless? You’re not taking my work seriously! I’ve pieced together clues that could bring down Victor’s entire operation, and all you care about is whether the door is locked.”
“Because the threat is real!” His voice rises, and he’s inches away now, towering over me. “Victor is dangerous, Selene. He’s made that clear, and he’s willing to go after anyone to protect his power. You’re not just putting yourself at risk; you’re putting Niamh at risk, too.”
“Niamh knows the risks,” I snap back. “She’s chosen to help me, and we’re both willing to do whatever it takes to see this through.”
“That’s the problem,” Diarmuid says through gritted teeth. “You’re willing to gamble with your lives as if this were some game. But it’s not a game, Selene. Victor already threatened you once, and he’ll follow through on those threats if we’re not careful.”
The room feels too small, and I can hear Niamh’s faint knocking at the door. “Selene? Diarmuid? Is everything all right?” she calls out, but I can’t answer her right now.
“You’re letting fear cloud your judgment,” I spit out. “We can’t waste time hiding behind locked doors. If we don’t act quickly, we could lose our chance to find the council.”
“Fear keeps us alive!” he snaps. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t investigate Newgrange, but we can’t afford to rush headlong into danger without a plan.”
“And who’s going to make that plan, Diarmuid?” I scoff. “You? You’re so terrified of taking a risk that you’d have us sit around doing nothing!”
“I’m trying to protect you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Can’t you see that?”
“I don’t need your protection!” I shout, tears welling up despite my resolve. “I need you to believe in me.”
He’s silent for a moment, breathing heavily as he struggles to rein in his anger. “I do believe in you,” he says finally. “But I can’t just stand by and watch you charge into danger without a care for your own safety.”
“Then maybe you should just stand back,” I say bitterly. “I’m going to Newgrange, with or without your help.”
The room falls silent, and for a moment, we both stare at each other, breathless and furious. The door rattles as Niamh tries the handle again.
Diarmuid’s eyes burn with frustration. “This entire situation is more complicated than your little quest,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “There is a lot in play here, and you aren't even part of the game.”
Condescension drips from his words, and it’s like a slap across my face. “Excellent approach! Condescension! I love it,” I retort, my sarcasm razor-sharp. “Would you like me to skip off to the kitchen, my lord? Stay in my place?”
His gaze darkens, and before I can blink, his hands are on either side of my face, pushing me back against the wall, his body pressed close to mine. His breath is hot against my skin as he leans in, his eyes locked on mine.
“I want you to give the most minimum fuck about your life,” he growls. “You may not give a shit about what happens to you, but I do. If you can’t live for yourself, live for me!”
His voice vibrates with intensity, and my breath catches in my throat. I stare into his eyes, my pulse quickening as his words sink in. The anger in his voice is matched only by the fear and longing flickering beneath the surface.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I whisper, “I do want to live for you, Diarmuid. But this matters to me. All of it. And you agreed to help me.”
His grip softens, his forehead resting against mine as he breathes heavily. “I did,” he says quietly. He’s silent for a long moment, and I can feel the tension trembling between us like a live wire.
Finally, he tilts his head up, and his lips find mine. The kiss is fierce and raw, and I melt into him, my anger dissolving into a desperate yearning. His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer as my hands curl around his shoulders, holding on tight.
