Page 115 of Override

The answer slips out before I can stop it. "I'm broken." The words hang there. Heavy. Ugly. Familiar. "I have to be." Nobody says anything. Which only makes it worse. I laugh once. Without humor. "I don't love the way people are supposed to." The words sound pathetic. True. "My ex cheated because—"

"Absolutely not." Wheels cuts me off so fast I blink.

"What?"

"No." He points again. Aggressively. Like he's preparing for violence. "Whoever convinced you of that is getting punched."

Despite everything, a laugh almost escapes me. "Wheels."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"No." He leans forward. Eyes fierce now. Protective. The same way he gets before a fight. "You're the guy who stays awake all night making sure everyone gets home safe."

I look away. "That's different."

"The hell it is."

Before either of us can continue, Bullet's voice crackles sharply through the comms.

All business.

"I have eyes on the target."

The entire van changes instantly. Conversation gone. Emotion gone. Operators again. Matt reaches for his headset. Wheels sits up straight. My laptop fills with new camera feeds. The target steps into view. And just like that, the moment is over.

For now.

Chapter 23

Maeve

I smile before I realize I'm doing it.

The realization catches me off guard while I fasten an earring and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

For a second, I just sit there. Looking. Trying to remember the last time I smiled this much. Not the polite smiles. Not the ones expected at dinners and fundraisers and charity events. Real smiles. The kind that happen before you think about them.

The answer arrives immediately. A week ago. Before coffee started appearing every morning. Before my favorite songs somehow began following me through the estate. Before a mysterious hacker with questionable social skills became the most interesting person in my life.

Heat immediately creeps into my cheeks.

Because that thought alone feels dangerous.

I reach for my lipstick. Then stop. The memory surfaces anyway. Three mornings.

Three mornings in a row I'd walked into the kitchen to find fresh coffee waiting. And every single morning there had been French vanilla creamer sitting beside it.

The exact brand I liked. The exact flavor.

When I'd finally asked the house manager about it, she'd looked genuinely confused.

Apparently she'd assumed I'd requested it.

The realization had followed me around all day. The same way the music had. Every time I stepped into the library. Every single time. A favorite song. An old playlist. Music I'd forgotten existed. Music that reminded me of who I used to be before every choice in my life became carefully calculated.

The thought settles warmly in my chest. Then guilt follows, fast on its heels, because Ronan is home now. And somehow that warmth has nothing to do with him.