Page 187 of What We Become

I forget how to speak.

She’s wearing the dress I had delivered this afternoon.

Black, of course. It skims rather than clings. Thin straps over bare shoulders, a low neckline that gives nothing away and suggests everything, the fabric slicing clean over her body before opening at one thigh when she moves. Her dark brown hair is down, loose waves falling over one shoulder. Gold at her ears. Her mouth a deep maroon. Her eyes sharp and giving me nothing, in the way that always makes me want to ruin my own composure just to see if I can shake hers.

She pauses three steps from the bottom like she knows exactly what she’s doing to the room.

Milo is the first to recover.

“Well,” he says faintly. “I’ve died. Nice of you all to attend my funeral.”

Micah makes a low sound in his throat that is all appreciation. Eli just stares. Knox goes still in that way he does when all his attention narrows so completely it feels like pressure in the air.

And me⁠—

I lock my jaw and fail to look anywhere but at her.

“Say something,” Sage says, one hand braced lightly on the banister. Dry as ever. “You all look like I came downstairs carrying a severed head.”

“That would actually make it even hotter,” Milo says.

“You look incredible,” Micah says immediately.

“Stunning,” Eli adds, voice roughened.

“Perfect,” I say, because it’s the only word I trust myself with.

Knox says nothing. He steps forward instead, stops at the foot of the stairs, and offers her his hand.

Her mouth softens.

She takes it and lets him guide her down the last three steps.

“Spin for us, Fury,” Knox says, lifting his arm to guide her in a slow circle. The dress moves with her. The open back reveals the line of her spine, the dimples above her hips, the fact that she followed my instructions to the letter—Wear this. Nothing underneath.

Knox releases her hand. Clears his throat. “We should leave. Now.”

“Seconded,” Micah says, his voice rougher than it was thirty seconds ago.

“Before we do—” Eli pushes off the banister and reaches into his jacket. What he produces makes Sage’s breath catch.

A collar.

Not the narrow one already circling her throat. This one is new—black leather, wider through the center, with delicate silver chainwork framing a polished D-ring. Something made to be seen.

“That one’s for keeping you safe,” Eli says, glancing at the heart-shaped charm at her throat. “This one is for tonight.”

Her fingers brush the tracker. “No charm?”

“Not unless you want it transferred.”

She looks at each of us in turn. “I think five men and Odin’s security can keep track of me for one night.”

Every protective instinct I have tightens, but she’s right. No one takes her from our sight tonight without going through all of us.

“May I?” Eli asks.

She lifts her chin.