Page 62 of Beneath the Surface

Every instinct screamed at him to go to her. To apologize. To try, like she’d asked.

But Dax stayed on the couch. Stayed in the safe space where he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Because that’s what he did. Pushed people away. Kept them safe from him.

Even if it destroyed them both in the process.

Around three in the morning, he finally fell into a fitful sleep. Dreamed of explosions and Quinn’s amber eyes and the feeling of her hand over his heart.

When he woke at six, Quinn was already up. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen. Deliberately loud. Letting him know she was awake.

He found her making coffee, dressed for the day in jeans and a gray sweater. Her hair was pulled back in that ponytail, the loose strands already escaping to frame her face.

She was stunning without even trying.

She didn’t acknowledge him. Just poured herself coffee and leaned against the counter, staring out the window.

“Quinn,” Dax started.

“Don’t.” Her voice was flat. “I don’t want to hear it. We have work to do. Let’s just focus on that.”

Professional distance. Cold shoulders. Exactly what he deserved.

“The DA wants to meet today,” he said quietly. “We need to present the evidence.”

“Fine. What time?”

“Two o’clock.”

“I’ll be ready.” She finished her coffee in three gulps, set the mug in the sink. “I’m going to spend the morning with Gran. You should review the evidence. Make sure we’re prepared.”

She walked past him without making eye contact. Without the accidental brush of shoulders or hands. Maintaining careful, deliberate distance.

And Dax let her go. Because this was what he’d chosen. Safety over connection. Fear over hope.

Even if it was killing him.

Chapter 12

The morning crawled by in tense silence.

Dax reviewed evidence at the dining table while Quinn sat with her grandmother. He could hear their voices—Quinn reading aloud from some book that had questionable content, her grandmother’s occasional weak responses and shared laughs. The intimacy of it made his chest ache.

He’d chosen this distance. Had to live with it.

Around ten, Nathan arrived to check vitals. Dax heard him talking quietly with Quinn in the hallway.

“How are you holding up?” Nathan’s voice, concerned.

“I’m fine.” Quinn’s response was automatic. The same brittle brightness she’d used last night.

“You sure? Because you look like you haven’t slept.”

“I said I’m fine, Nathan.” Her voice was sharper now. “Can you just—can we focus on Gran, please?”

“Of course. Sorry.”

Dax rubbed his jaw and tried to focus on Wheeler’s shell companies. Failed. His mind kept drifting to Quinn’s tears last night. The way she’d asked him to try. The way he’d choked.