Page 156 of What We Bury

“Do you?” Eli asks. “Because five minutes ago we agreed that she leads. That we don’t push, don’t pressure, don’t make decisions about her life without her involvement. And you’ve been recording her for a week.”

Milo swallows. Nods. “I’ll take them out. Today. I’ll tell her?—”

“No.” I stand up and take the tablet again. “I’ll do it.”

Everyone looks at me.

“You go over there right now, she’s going to see the guilt on your face before you get a word out. Then you’ll panic, start talking too much, and make this way worse,” I say. “Let me tell her. Then she gets to decide what she does with it.” I grab my jacket, and look at Milo. “Send me the access codes and camera locations. Delete the cloud backup. All of it. Before I get there. Then send proof—deletion logs, device IDs, every place that feed touched. If Fenrir, Loki, or Odin have access, I want to know before I walk into her apartment.”

Milo nods. He looks smaller than usual. Deflated. I almost feel sorry for him, I know his heart was in the right place. But I’m too busy being pissed off.

“For what it’s worth,” he says as I reach the door, “I really was trying to keep her safe.”

“I know.” I pause. “Doesn’t change the damage. You know that better than anyone.”

I leave before anyone can add to the pile-on. Milo’s taken enough hits, and if I stay, I’ll add more.

The morning air is sharp and bright. I sit in the car a minute, hands on the wheel, engine idling, and let myself think.

The fucked-up thing is, part of me gets it. Milo’s brain doesn’t draw the lines other brains draw. To him, information is safety and surveillance is love, and the idea that they could also be a violation just doesn’t compute.

But it did violate her. And she deserves to hear it from someone who’ll say it straight.

I pull into traffic and point the car at her building. No spin. No charm. No softening the edges. Just the truth, handed to her by someone who respects her enough to let her do whatever she needs with it.

Here’s the problem. Two days ago I stood in her doorway and kissed her like the building was on fire, and I’ve spent every hour since trying to file it under strategic instead of the first true thing I’ve done in years.

She saw through that version anyway. Saw through it the first morning, when I had her against a wall with her pulse going like a trapped bird and her eyes daring me to be something real. She’s always seen me. It’s why I can’t walk in there and lie. It’s why this is going to hurt.

Because now I have to tell the woman I just let myself want that one of us turned her home into a feed. That she and Micah are on a drive. That she was watched in the one place she’s supposed to be safe.

She can handle the truth. She’s stronger than any of us give her credit for. She can handle Milo’s particular brand of broken devotion, and she can handle me.

I hope.

Fuck. What if she hates us all after this?

I park outside her building. Kill the engine.

Then I grab the tablet, get out, and head upstairs.

Time to find out.

FORTY-TWO

SAGE

I’m on my second cup of coffee when there’s a knock at the door.

No key in the lock or someone letting themselves in like they own the place. An actual knock. Which means it’s either a stranger who got through the building entrance without buzzing up, or one of the guys being uncharacteristically polite.

I check the peephole. Holden.

He’s leaning against the guardrail wearing a white T-shirt and dark jeans that fit him in a way that should probably be illegal. He looks like he just stepped out of a cologne ad. The kind where the guy is brooding on a rooftop, and you’re not sure if he’s about to kiss someone or push them off.

The last time he stood at this door, he kissed me like he wanted to ruin me, then turned around and left without a word. Two days of silence and now here he is. Knocking. Like a gentleman. Like my mouth doesn’t still remember the exact weight of his.

I open the door. “Since when do any of you knock now that you have keys?”