Page 68 of The Endless Want

She sits up straighter without even realizing she’s doing it. He doesn’t say anything to us at first, just walks over and offers Nadia his hand. “Come here, little menace. I heard you nearly broke Ronan’s wrist.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” she sputters, though she takes his hand anyway. “He was just surprised. I’m light on my feet.”

“I know,” Liam murmurs, and his voice has that quiet, possessive pride that makes even me blush. Mackenzie gives me a look that clearly says now is the time, and for once I agree.

I stand, brushing dust off my leggings. “Liam?”

He glances toward me, and though his expression shifts back into something leader-like, the warmth doesn’t vanish entirely. “Yes?”

“I asked you a question at the wedding,” I say. “You never answered it.”

Liam goes still in the particular way he does when he knows exactly which question I mean.

“She’s the only person in this building who’s run an operation against a Costello and got inside,” I say. “You have her doing escape drills in a basement while the network she came out of is hunting your people. That’s not protection. That’s storage.”

“Ailish.” Quiet. A warning.

“You asked me once what her role was,” Nadia says, not looking up from her water bottle. “Nobody’s written it down yet.”

The silence that follows has weight to it. Mackenzie has the sense to say nothing at all.

Liam looks at Nadia for a long moment. Then at me. And something shifts quietly in the room, a nearly invisible loosening. “Monday,” he says. “You, me, and Conor. We’ll define it properly.”

Nadia lights up. It’s small, but it’s bright.

Before she can say anything, he takes her hand and tugs her toward the exit. “Come on. Breakfast before I drown in meetings.”

She beams at us over her shoulder as she goes. “Save me a snack for later.”

Then the door shuts behind them.

Then Mackenzie exhales dramatically. “Finally. You know how long I’ve been dying for that man to unclench? Nadia’s going to explode from happiness.”

I laugh, but it feels a little fragile. Today has been oddly peaceful—normal, even—and somehow that makes me anxious.

Mackenzie tosses me an apple and grabs her bag. “Speaking of unclenching… you and I have an appointment. Don’t look at me like that. You agreed.”

“I didn’t agree,” I mutter. “I just didn’t fight you.”

“Same thing,” she says, looping her arm with mine. “Let’s go see if your alien parasite has limbs.”

“Mackenzie!”

“What? Humor helps with stress.”

Except it doesn’t. Not entirely. Because beneath all that humor, the truth burns sharp and bright: Today I’m getting my first ultrasound.

Today I’m deciding—for real, for certain—what I’m going to do.

And even though Mackenzie is the only person I can trust with this, my stomach coils like rope.

I’m terrified.

Mackenzie takes us there in a car that isn't hers, by a route that doubles back twice, and neither of us says why.

The underground clinic is small. It smells faintly of antiseptic and lemon cleaner, and the fluorescent lights hum overhead like a swarm of flies.

The doctor Mackenzie knows is discreet, efficient, and so nonjudgmental it almost unnerves me.