Page 11 of Make Them Pay

He looks where I’m pointing, then at me, then back at the screen. “I’ve been watching that for days. Couldn’t figure out why it felt off.”

“It feels off because it is off. Whoever is sending those is being extra careful not to get noticed.”

He’s silent for a few seconds. On Render, that’s the same as applause.

“You just spotted a possible secret channel inside a criminal organization after twenty minutes of looking at that graph,” he says.

“I’ve always been good at patterns. Poe used to say I see shapes other people miss.”

“He was right.”

The simple way he says it, without any surprise or patronizing tone, sends a warm flutter through my chest. I’ve always thought Render was ridiculously good-looking. The kind of bad boy handsome that sneaks up on you. Right now, with sunlight caught in the dark scruff that shadows his jaw and those impossible eyes pinned on me, remembering I'm supposed to keep my distance feels like the dumbest idea I've had all day.

We keep working, heads close over the laptop. Our elbows brush. Our knees touch under the small table. Each little contact sends a spark through me. I notice the warmth of his arm next to mine. The way his shoulder fills out his shirt. The focused set of his mouth when he concentrates.

I like it too much.

Then the cabin door bangs in the wind.

It’s nothing. Just a gust slamming the unlatched door. But my body doesn’t hear a door. It hears the container. Metal slamming shut. The bolt sliding home. Darkness rushing in.

I’m not in the cabin anymore.

I’m back there. Wrists burning. Air thick with rust and fear. Boots outside. Laughter while I sit in the dark wondering if my brother’s already gone.

My lungs seize. I can’t pull in a full breath. My hands shake hard enough that the chair rattles against the table. The tremor spreads through my whole body.

I can’t stop it.

“Enley.” Render’s voice cuts through the noise in my head. “Enley. Look at me.”

I try, but the room keeps flipping between the cabin and that metal box. Then his hands are on mine. Both of them. Warm and strong, pressing down on the table, holding me steady. Not gentle. Just solid. Real. Anchoring me to the here and now.

“You’re in the cabin,” he says, voice calm and steady. “You’re safe. That was just the door in the wind. You’re with me. I’ve got you.”

His thumbs brush over the backs of my hands in slow circles. The contact is grounding. His face is close, eyes locked on mine, full of quiet concern. He doesn’t pull away. He stays right there, solid and warm, letting me feel that I’m not alone.

“Breathe with me,” he murmurs. “In slow. Out slow. That’s it. You’re doing good.”

I focus on his hands. On the steady rhythm of his breathing. On the way he’s looking at me like I matter more than the work on the table. Little by little the room settles. The container fades. My lungs open and air finally goes all the way down.

The shaking eases. I’m still trembling, but it’s manageable now.

Render doesn’t let go right away. He keeps his hands over mine, thumbs still moving in those soothing circles. “There you are,” he says softly. “Welcome back.”

I feel exposed. Raw. But also seen in a way that makes my heart ache. I’ve always found him attractive, but this is different. This steady presence, this willingness to sit in the mess with me, makes something warm and dangerous bloom in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t be.” His voice is gentle. “You went through hell. It’s going to come back sometimes. I’m right here when it does.”

He stays close for another long moment before slowly pulling his hands back. The loss of his touch leaves me colder than I want to admit. Our eyes meet across the table, and the air feels charged.

I wipe my face and take a shaky sip of the mint water. The tremor in my hands has mostly stopped.

“The hidden messages,” I say, steering us back to safer ground. “I think the next one might come through in the next couple of hours based on the pattern. We should be ready.”

He nods. “I’ll set it up.”