That quiet bubble—the one from this morning—the one that hadn’t made sense but had still felt real—it didn’t come with us. It stayed suspended somewhere just above the Hudson.
I exhaled slowly, my chest tight in a way I couldn’t quite name.
Beside me, Alois didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge anything that had happened in the last few hours. But then—his hand settled on my knee. Like it had always belonged there.
My breath hitched, shallow and quiet, as I stared straight ahead, refusing to look down. Because if I did—if I acknowledged it—it would become real in a way I wasn’t ready for.
Nothing about this made sense.
Not him.
Not the way he had watched me at that window.
My fingers curled slightly against the armrest as the plane leveled out, the city disappearing fully beneath the clouds.
Because something told me—whatever this was—whatever had started between us this morning—we were already wildly veering off course, and I had a sinking feeling that we were heading right back into the belly of the beast.
CHAPTER 14
BEA
There was no better feeling—after a day filled with travel, work, and utter, bone-deep confusion—than stepping back into my apartment.
Not the quiet.
Not the familiar weight of my bag slipping off my shoulder.
Bento.
A soft thud of paws hit the floor from somewhere deeper in the apartment, then another, then the quick, indignant patter of him launching himself across the hardwood with all the urgency of a creature personally betrayed. He rounded the corner at a dead sprint, his fluffy gray-and-white body low and dramatic, golden eyes huge with accusation, and threw himself against my ankles like I had abandoned him for war instead of one night.
“Oh my God, I know,” I laughed, already dropping my bag beside the door and bending before he could escalate into full emotional collapse. “I know. I’m terrible. Call the police.”
He answered with a loud, wounded meow anyway, climbing into my arms the second I scooped him up, dignity having no place in a reunion this important. His body folded against my chest with immediate, offended trust, warm and familiar and absurdly solid for something with such delicate whiskers. I pressed my face into the curls under his ear and inhaled the clean, powdery warmth of him, the faint scent of litter and fabric softener and home, and some tight, ugly knot in my chest loosened by degrees.
“I missed you too,” I murmured into his fur. “Even though your guilt tactics are manipulative and frankly abusive.”
He purred so hard I could feel it through my arms.
Alois did not say anything. He had followed me inside without fanfare, broad shoulders filling the entryway for half a second before he moved further in, his duffel in one hand, his coat hanging open, all that size and stillness and muted authority changing the shape of the room just by standing in it. My apartment was not big. It was tidy and bright and mine, full of cream throws and soft wood and framed prints and carefully chosen little pieces that kept it from feeling temporary. He should have looked out of place in it. He should have felt too severe for the warmth of it.
Instead, he looked as if he had already decided exactly how much space he intended to take.
Bento stiffened instantly in my arms. His purr cut off so abruptly it felt theatrical. He lifted his head from my shoulder, turned in my hold, and stared at Alois with the narrowed, deeply suspicious focus of a tiny mob boss evaluating a threat to his operation.
“Do not start,” I warned quietly, though whether I meant the cat or the man, I could not have said with confidence.
I set Bento down before his claws could become part of the evening’s conflict, then crossed into the kitchen and reached for a glass. The cold water that hit it from the faucet ran clear and fast, and I filled it halfway just to have something chilled and solid in my hand before I said what had been pacing circles in my head since leaving the Hayes’ magnificent penthouse.
“Are you going to explain to me what happened this morning?” The question came out harsh. Not polished. Not measured. It cut clean across the room, first shot fired.
Alois had been halfway to the living area, duffel already half unzipped. He stilled. Slowly, he straightened and turned his head toward me, expression unreadable in that infuriating way of his that never seemed blank so much as heavily guarded.
“Explain what?”
My pulse spiked, hot and immediate. “What was that?” I demanded. “You could have told me who we were meeting. You could have said one sentence in the car, or in the elevator, or at any point before I walked into that room looking completely ignorant.”
His jaw shifted once. That was all. The smallest movement. Then, to my absolute horror, I saw the faintest pull at the corner of his mouth. “You should have done your homework.”