Piece by piece, we’re pulling him apart.
The minutes bleed into hours, and the hours grind down into bone-tired focus. The room hums with the soft whir of machines, keys tapping, hushed curses when a trail dead-ends. We picked Jory’s life apart, thread by thread, until even the shadows under our eyes appear bruised. The clock hits two in the morning without mercy, and Berk is still hunched over her keyboard, fingers flying like she’s holding the world together with nothing but code and spite.
She yawns, quick and sharp. Then again, longer, her jaw cracking as she stretches her neck and keeps typing like she can bully her exhaustion into silence.
That does it.
I push my chair back and stand; the floorboards creak under my weight. “Alright,” I say, stepping behind her and resting a hand on the back of her chair. “That’s enough. Deadline’s here.”
She doesn’t fight. That alone tells me how wiped she is.
Emerson rubs his face, stifling a yawn behind his fist. Rowan cracks his neck and shuts down his monitor, mutteringsomething about his eyes crossing. We’re all dragging, the adrenaline gone and leaving nothing but emptiness and the dull throb of worry for Kimber sitting behind our ribs.
Berk finally leans back and blows out a breath. “Give me one minute,” she says, already reaching for another window. “I need to set the auto-dump, so it’ll pull anything that hits the net overnight. If something big pings, it’ll wake us.”
Her voice stays even, but her shoulders sag as she types the commands. She’s trying to make it sound casual. It isn’t. She won’t rest unless the system is moving—even when she can’t.
Emerson stretches and heads for the hallway, dragging Rowan with him by the collar of his shirt, the two of them half-asleep already. The door down the hall clicks shut behind them, leaving the war room in a low hum and the glow of the monitors casting soft light across Berk’s face.
I don’t leave.
I cross my arms and stay right behind her, watching her fingers, watching her eyes glaze with a tiredness that makes her dangerous. Not outwardly. Inwardly. The kind that makes her spiral into the code until she forgets to breathe.
“Ronan,” she murmurs, not looking up, “I’m almost done.”
“I know,” I say. “Which is why I’m staying right here. Making sure you don’t start something new.”
She tries to hide the little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It’s faint. Exhausted. But it’s mine.
Another few keystrokes, a final click, and she sits back. “Okay. It’s set.”
I lean down and press a slow kiss to the crown of her head, breathing her in, feeling her finally relax under my hands. “Good,” I whisper. “Because if you started something else tonight, I was going to carry you out of here kicking and screaming.”
She tilts her head back, smirking up at me. “Promises, promises.”
I chuckle, low and tired, and shut off the last monitor. “Come on, Pix. Bed. We find Kimber faster if you’re not coding in your sleep.”
This time, she doesn’t argue. Not a single word.
She just slips her hand into mine and lets me lead her out of the war room, the glow fading behind us as the house finally settles into silence.
Chapter Nine
Berkley
As much as I want to keep tearing into code, hunting down every scrap of information that might lead us to Kimber, Ronan’s right. The crash is coming. I feel it stalking the edges of my mind, waiting for the moment I slip, waiting for the moment exhaustion steals a detail I cannot afford to lose.
The other night proved it. I slept—actually slept—with all three of them wrapped around me like a living barricade. And I woke up steadier… because of them.
So, I close the last program, lace my fingers with Ronan’s, and let him lead me down the hall. My body feels heavy, bones humming with fatigue, but his touch is warm and grounding. When we step into the bedroom, something inside me loosens.
Rowan and Emerson are already in bed.
They look nothing like the devils we become when the world forces our hand. Rowan is half-sitting against the headboard, arms folded, pretending he wasn’t waiting for us. Emerson’s long frame is sprawled across the mattress in a way that makes him look younger than he ever lets himself be. There’s a tenderness hanging in the air, something quiet and rare, and it grips my chest unexpectedly.
“Aww,” I murmur, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “How cute.”
Two sets of eyes snap open—hunger, obsession, and painfully adorable. Rowan scrubs a hand over his face with a low groan. Emerson squints at me like I’ve just insulted his entire bloodline. But the snark dies instantly when they see my expression. Whatever smartass comments they had lock behind their teeth.