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Damn, girl. Reckless is good, but remember, no lifeguards out there in the real world. Don’t go overboard!
I shake my head, amused at how close she is to describingexactlywhat went down last night. She’s not wrong—there were definitely no lifeguards in the storm, just me and Mal and the crazy ocean. I appreciate the concern, even if it’s wrapped in playful banter.
Me
I’ll try not to drown. Promise.
Cain
Good. Would hate to lose my new code-breaking buddy to a rogue wave.
I laugh softly, thinking back to the dark waves, the howling wind, and the way the world felt both alive and dangerous. My fingers hover over the screen for a moment before I type out my last reply.
Me
Trust me, the waves were worth it.
Cain
Glad to hear it. Now get back to shore before you end up in a tsunami or something.
I put my phone down and lean back against the couch, my thoughts drifting. My heart is still thrumming with the energy from last night, the intensity of everything that happened. But this conversation with Cain has been a good distraction, a way to pull me back to normalcy, even if just for a while.
I might be living on borrowed time. But right now, I’m riding the waves, and I’m not ready to stop.
38
MAL
The morning lightfilters around the edges of the blackout curtains, bathing Freya’s sleeping form in a soft, golden glow.
In the last week, I’ve had the window glass replaced with special UV-blocking glass usually used by chemical labs and art museums. If she’s going to be staying here—and sheisgoing to be staying here—then I want her safe and protected.
She’s curled up beside me, her breathing steady and slow, the blanket only just covering her bare shoulder. I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, feeling the steady pull of something I don’t have a name for.
My fingers move without thinking, brushing over her cheekbone. She shifts slightly at my touch, murmuring something in her sleep, but doesn’t wake. There’s a peace in her face I don’t see when she’s awake—a fragile quiet that doesn’t exist in our chaotic world—and I know, deep down, it’s my job to protect it.
I won’t call this what it probably is. I can’t. A broken part of me won’t let me say the word or accept the emotion. But I’m in deep with her—deeper than I’ve ever let myself get with anyone.
It should scare me. And it does, I suppose, a little. But I can’t pull away. Not now. Not when every minute I spend with her feels like a lifeline.
I trace the curve of her jaw with the back of my hand, careful not to wake her. I hate that I can’t protect her from all of it. Not from the past, nor from the future unknown.
But I’ll try. For her, I’ll try.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, shattering the quiet of the room. I pull my hand back from Freya’s face, glancing down at the screen.
Oren.
I slide out of bed carefully, grabbing the phone and shutting the door softly behind me. Downstairs, I slip out onto the patio, and answer.
“Find anything?”
Oren’s voice is low. “Yeah. You might want to sit down.”
He exhales, the kind of exhale that tells me he’s dug up something that maybe should have stayed buried.
“William Lindqvist and Kir Nikolayev worked together briefly—back when the Nikolayev Bratva was first expanding internationally.Waybefore…what happened to your family. It’s not in any official records, but the underground channels talk.”
