Page 41 of The Eagle's Vault

I left my room at a near-dash, the first one out. Down the hall, down the stairs, to Leigh’s room. A nagging worry gnawed at my gut. We didn’t have time for the delays that came with civilians. But I wouldn’t leave her there. She’d come through for me with the keys, and I owed her.

Leigh’s door swung open, her eyes wide, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

Fuck. She must have been in shock in the van, because this was not the same control she’d shown back there.

“Hey,” I whispered, grabbing her wrists as we let the door close behind me. Her pulse thudded against my fingers, wild and unsteady. In that moment, with her chest heaving, I thought about pulling her toward me again. Doing something stupid, like hugging her.

This still wasn’t the time.

“You were perfect in the vault, Leigh.” In my mind’s eye, I saw her hand-filing the keys with surgical precision, a stark contrast to my own pathetic attempt. The memory sparked a jolt of embarrassment. She’d been faster, better. Nudging me with her hip as a taunt. “I need you to be perfect a bit longer. Just breathe.”

Her eyes searched mine. “You were angry in there.”

“We need to focus and pack,” I said, tightening my grip on her wrists. “Once we’re at the new hotel, then we can fall apart. But we do this now. We get out, we stay safe.”

“And then?” she asked, her whole body trembling.

“And then we figure everything out.” Hopefully, we’d figure it out. If nothing else, we’d have next steps. “And we’ll do it together. You’re on this team until we’re safe. You got me?”

She nodded and flew into motion, tossing things haphazardly from drawers into a hard-sided suitcase.

“Do you need any help?” I asked, my gaze falling to her cluttered bed, half her clothes missing their mark.

“Just the books.” She pointed at a stack on her bedside table, her finger slowly pulling back, as though unsure about something. Then, her tone changed, something sharper creeping in. “You’re really giving the notebook to Edoardo?”

As I grabbed the pile of books, the titles caught my eye.The Fortress Within: A History of Safes and Vaultsby Thomas W. St. John.Vaults of the World: Noteworthy Safes from Historyby Josephine Hartley. “These your idea of light reading?”

She hesitated for a breath, cheeks flushed, and a hint of unease passed over her face. “Sort of.”

“Is this where you get your design ideas?” I was supposed to be helping her hurry—the team would be waiting. “Like the stink gas and the dye?”

“They’re inspiration.” She flipped the lid over on her suitcase and started stuffing loose pieces out of the way of the zipper. “Did you know the Svalbard Seed Vault is designed to withstand a nuclear missile strike? And Leonardo da Vinci had some sketches related to vault doors in his Vitruvian Man—” She stopped abruptly, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. “Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous.”

Puzzle pieces. Clicking into place. She shut down around Isaac. She hid her talent so it wouldn’t make anyone feel bad. Was this part of it? Her passion, buried under layers of fear and self-doubt? Finally revealed in this ultra-shitty moment?

“We better go,” I said, tucking her books into my bag, the question lingering in the back of my mind. A puzzle for later. For now, we had to get out.

She was still in her thermal suit, the plainclothes sitting in her go bag inside the van. Every inch of her was on display, and what a display it was.

Calm, cool, collected, Dec.I was the guy who talked to vaults, who was more at home with schematics and cogs and wheels. Not the Casanova like Emmett. Maybe I should’ve let Rav or Jayce take care of Leigh. They’d do it without a second thought, without the tangled mess of emotions that threatened to derail my focus. But she needed someone, and I’d stepped up. Because I wanted to. Needed to.

“Ready?” I asked, shouldering her backpack over my duffel and opening her door.

Bag in hand, Leigh paused. “I should check on Isaac—”

“No,” I cut her off. “We need to go. You trust me, right?”

She just blinked at me.

I didn’t give her a chance to answer, a pang of fear at the response I’d get. “You can trust Rav to get Isaac moving. He knows what he’s doing.”

She crept into the hallway ahead of me, aiming for the back stairs. “Does this happen a lot?”

I thought about the job a couple of weeks ago in London. The chaos. The close calls. The guy with the gun. She didn’t need to know any of that.

“We’re professionals, Leigh.” I channeled my inner Scarlett. “We’ve got this under control. Let’s just get out safely, okay?”

She nodded, and we made a turn down the too-bright hallway to the stairs. The sudden ding of the elevator shot through the silence like a gunshot. It was four in the morning. Who’d be in the elevator?

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