Page 37 of The Endless Want

Last night—whatever it was—whatever passed between us in fear and desperation and exhaustion—it wasn’t trust. It wasn’t closeness. It was a lapse. And now I’m being managed like a loose thread that might unravel everything.

I step back into the flat and slam the door shut before the guard can say anything else. The silence inside feels sharper this time. Colder. Maybe lonelier.

I press my back to the door and let out a shaky breath that cracks on the way out.

“This is ridiculous,” I whisper, choking on the heat in my throat. “I’m not a child. I’m not some… pawn he gets to hide away while he plays hero.”

I pace the room, running my hands through my hair until it hurts. Every few steps I catch myself clenching my jaw so tightly it aches.

I hate feeling cornered. I hate being controlled. And I hate—more than anything—that the person doing it is Declan.

He didn’t even give me the dignity of choosing to stay.

I stop pacing and go straight to the mismatched cabinet by the kitchenette. Somewhere in the back, beneath a thick stack of old papers and manuals, I find exactly what I’m hoping for.

A burner phone. Small. Cheap. Feet of duct tape still clinging to the side. Declan probably kept it for emergencies.

Well—this is one.

I open it. There’s no lock screen. No SIM. Just the shell.

I grab one of the unmarked SIM cards from the metal box under the sink—Declan keeps supplies everywhere, like he’s preparing for twenty emergencies at once—and slot it into the phone.

The screen flickers to life. I sit on the edge of the sofa, take a breath I can’t seem to fill, and dial the number I’ve had memorized for years. Mackenzie’s personal line. The one that bypasses her security teams. The one she gave me when we were younger.

The phone rings once. Twice. I hold my breath. On the fourth ring she picks up and says nothing at all.

That’s how I know she’s really Costello now. Three years ago she’d have said hello.

“Mack. It’s me.”

The change in her breathing is instant. “Where are you? No, wait.” A pause, the sound of a door. “Okay. Go.”

The dam inside me cracks. “Mack,” I whisper, and my voice sounds broken. “I—I don’t know what to do.”

There’s rustling on her end. Sheets. A lamp switching on. A door opening. “Oh God,” she breathes, all sleep gone now. “What happened?”

I press the heel of my palm to my eyes. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Ailish—”

“I’m safe,” I say. “I think. But I don’t know. Things just—last night, something happened, and Declan brought me somewhere, and I woke up alone and now there’s a guard outside and I…”

The words dissolve. My throat closes.

Mackenzie goes still on the other end. I can feel her listening. “How bad?” she asks softly.

I drop my head, breath shuddering. “Bad enough that I’m questioning if I can trust anyone anymore.”

“Oh, Ailish…”

“I don’t know if I’m heartbroken or just done,” I choke out. “I don’t know what I feel. Everything’s wrong. Everything’s slipping out from under me. Liam’s doubting me. The Russians are hunting me. Nadia’s terrified her friend is part of it. And Declan—Declan⁠—”

My voice cracks again.

Mackenzie waits. She always waits. She’s the only friend I have who doesn’t fill my silence with assumptions.

Finally, I manage, “He left me here. With a guard. Like I can’t be trusted. After we… after last night.”