Page 104 of Trust

Adrenaline used to be my only proof of life, the only thing able to jump-start my heart: combat, risk, a new girl every week. They didn’t know who I was or what I’d done. Sara knows more than all of them combined, and she still chose to trust me. That trust makes me want to stay, and it makes me want her to stay even more than before.

A stupid smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I don’t even try to hide it.

Stix chuckles. “That good, huh?”

“You didn’t watch?” I ask, glancing at him over the rim of my mug.

“Nah,” he says, leaning back with a sip of coffee. “That belonged to the both of you. Figured I’d let you have it.”

Then he smirks, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if the cameras are sharing a private joke with him. “Don’t worry, though. It’s all recorded. I’ll watch it later, when I’m in the mood.”

I snort. “You’re a sick bastard.”

Stix grins, entirely unbothered. “Takes one to know one.”

He flicks his chin toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says as he gets up and leads the way.

Chatter’s done.

I set my drink down and untangle myself from Sara’s embrace, careful not to stir her. The more I wake, the clearer one thing becomes. I will not give this up. I will not let Stix take her back, and he needs to know it.

After I throw on a shirt, I follow him to the kitchen, where we sit at the table.

I lean forward. “I’m not walking away from this, Stix. If you’re planning to take her home, I’m telling you now: I will collect her from any car or driveway or house you drop her off at, and I will not ask permission. I’ll take her to my place. She’ll stay where I can see her, so I never have to wonder how she’s doing. If you want out, fine. Then she’s mine alone.”

His eyes narrow. The easy back-and-forth between us is gone. “You are not thinking straight,” he says, though his voice wavers. “She deserves a life. A chance to return, to move forward as any other girl would, with choices that are hers to make. We can keep tabs on her, check in every now and then, make sure she’s okay. What you’re planning is kidnapping.”

My fingers tighten around the mug’s handle until the ceramic squeaks. “Call it whatever doesn’t let you sleep at night. I call it preserving someone’s life. If you want to talk moral high ground, go for it, but don’t pretend you can hand her back to the men who did this to her mother, thinking she’ll be fine.”

He stands then, sudden and controlled. The room shrinks to the space between us. “What makes you think you get to decide?”

“What makes me think?” I laugh without humor. “What is there to think about? I want her safe.”

Stix’s jaw works. “You are not the only one trying to protect her. If you take her and bunker her away, you’ll crush any hope she has of living freely.”

“I am keeping her alive,” I argue. “And if that costs her a normal job, a stupid college party, or the possibility of leaving this place without one of us shadowing her, then so be it. All that matters is that her heart keeps beating.”

He steps closer, his voice measured, as though explaining an obvious fact to a child unwilling to understand. “You want to live with that trade-off for the rest of your life? To own somebody’s days and nights because you decided fear is safer than independence?”

His logic’s solid, but my gut says otherwise. “Are you offering freedom?” I ask. “Because what future will she even have? Cameras, the Board, a father who cares more about his image than his family. Is that your idea of freedom?”

The steel in his face slips, if only for a second. “I have a plan. I want to try it.”

“You want to try it?” My voice turns sharp. “Try it, and she dies because you wanted to play nice? No. You are going to let me make sure she has a place where she can survive until the threat is gone. If you cannot accept that, then step aside and let me do what needs to be done.”

Stix stares at me with that edge, the kind that makes you brace for impact. “If you take her, you are cutting me out. If you take her, you’re telling me you don’t trust me to keep her safe.”

“Maybe I don’t,” I agree, not bothering to hide the truth. “Maybe I don’t trust your way. Maybe I don’t trust anyone who thinks a political handshake means anything when the stakes are life or death. If this comes down to her or your pride, I will choose her.”

Stix rubs his forehead, and when he looks up, he looks tired, not defeated. “You will not get away with making this decision alone,” he says finally. “If you kidnap her, you will force my hand.”

The distance between us buzzes with tension. “Then I’ll force it,” I reply.

He holds my stare for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is level. “Then do it. But know this: if you ruin her because you don’t trust my way, and she ends up burned by the fallout, I will never look at you the same again.”

It’s more than a promise. It marks the divide, and we’re on different sides.

“Do not make me choose between saving her and letting her die to prove you wrong,” I say. “Because I will save her.”