My chest tightens. “You can,” I tell her, voice low. “And you will.”
Her gaze holds mine, and for a second the cabin feels smaller—warmer. Like the air is charged with something neither of us is naming.
A crackle comes over my radio on the counter. Silas’s voice. “Rhett. Quick update. Lead’s still hot. Don’t move. Keep her close.”
I reach for the radio, thumb the button. “Copy.”
Emma’s eyes flick to it. “That sounded ominous.”
“It’s work.”
“Everything you say sounds like work.”
I set the radio down and look at her. “Then let’s keep training.”
She straightens. “Yes, sir.”
I blink. “Don’t?—”
She grins. “What? You like it.”
I mutter, “You’re trouble.”
She steps closer, eyes bright. “And you’re addicted.”
My pulse jumps like it’s got a mind of its own.
I’m not addicted.
I’m just…interested.
Curious.
Protective.
Whatever word makes it not sound like I’m losing control. But when she smiles at me like that—bold and brave and too damn alive—I know one thing for sure: Keeping her safe is going to be the hardest mission I’ve ever had. Because the more time she spends at Haven 7… The more she feels like she belongs here. And the more she belongs… The more I’m going to want her to stay.
Forever.
SEVEN
EMMA
By the time dinner is over, my stomach is full, my cheeks hurt from laughing, and my brain is doing that annoying thing where it tries to convince me this is normal. As if I didn’t show up at a secret mountain compound like a deranged Nancy Drew with frostbite and a vendetta. As if I’m not here because my sister is missing and I’m terrified something awful has happened to her.
As if the man walking beside me—quiet, intense Rhett—didn’t drag me out of the woods with one hand and then teach me how to break someone’s grip without breaking my own spirit.
Normal.
Sure.
We head back to Rhett’s cabin through the soft hush of snow, our boots crunching in sync. The compound lights glow warm behind us, and the sky above is ink-black, scattered with stars so bright it’s unfair. The air smells like pine and cold and smoke from the clubhouse chimney.
Rhett doesn’t talk much on the walk. He’s in that protective, watchful mode again. Head slightly angled, scanning, listening. Like the woods are speaking a language only he understands.
I keep stealing glances at him anyway. Which is probably dangerous for my health.
He’s all solid shoulders and quiet power, a man built out of sharp edges and self-control. He wears silence like armor, but he’s not cold. Not really. It’s just… like he saves all his warmth for the people he decides are worth it. And somehow, through a series of terrible life choices and even worse timing, I’m inside that circle.