One Week Later
Sunlighthits the dust motes dancing in the blue glow of the server racks, butIdon’t move.Ican’t.Twohundred pounds of solid, unyielding heat is wrapped around me, an arm heavy across my waist like a steel bar, and a leg thrown over my thighs.Danieldoesn’t sleep; he recharges while maintaining a perimeter.Andapparently,Iam the perimeter.
Mynose is buried in the crook of his neck.Hesmells like cedar, unscented soap, and that unique, ozone-sharp scent of overheating electronics.It’sthe best smell in the world.Betterthan fresh coffee.Betterthan the sterile air of the high-end server roomsIused to break into.
Ishift, trying to regain some circulation in my left arm.
Daniel’sgrip tightens instantly.Hedoesn’t wake up.Thevibration in his chest settles into a dark, proprietary hum against my ribs as he pulls me closer.Hisbeard scratches my shoulder.
"Ineed to pee,Daniel,"Iwhisper.
Oneeye opens.It’sthe color of a frozen lake, clear and sharp and utterly awake.There’sno grogginess.Noblinking.Justinstant target acquisition.
"Holdit," he rumbles, his voice like gravel in a blender.
"That’snot how biology works,Daniel."
"Fivemore minutes."Heburies his face in my hair, inhaling deep. "Yousmell like me."
"Iam wearing your shirt.Iam in your bed.Iam literally covered in yourDNAfrom last night.OfcourseIsmell like you."
Heangles his chin in a sharp, singular motion. "Good."
Hereleases me, but only enough soIcan slide out.Hewatches me walk to the small bathroom attached to the loft, his gaze heavy, physical.Ican feel it on my skin, hotter than the shower steam.Icatch my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
Thedark circles that have been a permanent fixture under my eyes for eight months are gone.Thetension that used to pull at my mouth has dissolved.Ilook safe.
Iwash my face and brush my teeth with the spare brush he produced from a drawer like a magic trick our first night here.WhenIcome back out,Danielis already at the monitors.He’swearing nothing but black boxer briefs, his back a landscape of muscle and old scars.He’styping with one hand, the other holding a mug of coffee he must have brewed whileIwas in the bathroom.
Competenceradiates off him, more intoxicating than the caffeine.
"Perimetercheck?"Iask, leaning against the doorframe.
"Always."Hedoesn't look away from the screens. "Costasare quiet.Tooquiet.Butthe chatter on the dark web has shifted.Theyaren't looking forKailaReyesanymore."
"Becauseshe’s dead,"Isay, the words tasting strange on my tongue.
Hespins the chair around. "Becauseshe’s gone.KailaGunnaris right here."
Heholds out a hand.Itake it, and he pulls me between his knees.Histhumbs trace the line of my hip bone over the oversized t-shirt.
"Kevinis awake," he says. "He’sdown in the mess hall.EatingTiffany’scinnamon rolls like he’s never seen food before."
Mychest tightens. "He’sokay?"
"He’sfine,Kaila.Bruised.Steadyenough to keep his hands from trembling.Shanehas him talking about baseball.Thekid is resilient."
"He’snot a kid.He’snineteen."
"He’sa kid to me."Danielpresses a kiss to my stomach. "Getdressed.We’regoing to town."
Iblink. "Town?Asin, outside the gates?Wherepeople can see us?"
"You’remyOldLady.You’renot a prisoner.Andwe have business."
"Whatbusiness?"
Hesmirks, and for a second, the broodingTrackerlooks almost boyish. "Christieat theCozyCupis threatening to riot if she doesn't get a look at you.Andwe need to sign some papers."