Page 1 of Carry Your Debt

“You see now,don’t you? The Gray Man already has his replacement heir.”

Just the simple act of swallowing is proving a feat right now, my throat working double time against the snarling mess of anxiety that’s taken up residence there. It’s a persistent, slow-creeping sort of dread—unleashed by the hand-delivered bombshell lying in wait for me at my office this morning.

A seed of pure chaos, eager to take root from within an unmarked envelope the moment I arrived at my desk and flicked through the mail.

At first glance, the unassuming package had seemed like a boon. Hundreds of pages, and each one filled with clandestine accounts, assets, purchases, contacts, meeting details. All brand-new-to-us information, and all of it designed to help paint an increasingly clearer picture of Sebastian’s twisted intentions for our organization.

Untraceable, of course, but two months into my Crew’s temporary exile—and desperate for any kind of lateral movement against my father—I was hungry and ready to count my blessings.

That was until I found myself being completely and utterly fucking blindsided by a single and concise set of DNA results from Lexington Diagnostics.

My veryfate condensed into the equivalent of a two-page lab report, and casually slipped into my in-tray before the start of business.

A second biological Grayson child.

Technically, and perhapsrationally, I know this makes the kid family. Myhalf-brother.

But that’s not what I convinced myself of as I spent a solid three hours poring over every inch of Tristan Sinclair’s file. The very one my Crew had put together during their Academy reconnaissance.

I only saw a son, now of age. A spare. Direct evidence of a Gray Man legacy contingency plan.

And my doom.

We'd figured for some time now that the power and protection afforded by my position would only stretch so far and for so long. Now, I can only assume that my team is being earmarked as Gray Men collateral as we speak.

Laying eyes on Sabine has certainly helped my blood pressure, and although my throat still feels as though I’ve been gargling broken glass, at least the steady war drum of my pulse is finally easing off. The payment for so many hours stuck in survival mode, however, is now every muscle across my back and jaw throbs with post-adrenaline fatigue.

But seeing the disturbed look on Sabine’s face tells me that getting any semblance of rest would be close to impossible, anyway.

I wince.

Fuck.

Logically, this is when I should look away. Break eye contact, stand up, regroup, and begin reviewingourcontingency plans. After all, I can physicallyseethat she’s here. That she’ssafe.

But logic has not just left the building, but the entire fucking city, and those arresting gold-flecked, gray irises are doing a stellar fucking job of holding my entire body hostage. Always beautiful, but always locked down like Fort Knox, they’re now quietly simmering with something akin to banked horror.

It’s not an overt display of emotion by any means—but I can honestly say I’ve never quite witnessed this level of vulnerability from Sabine Winters before. Certainly not in the years following the Belgian’s insidious ‘re-programming’.

It’s almost…disconcerting.

In my periphery, I clock the minute tremor that runs through her fingers, the edges of the lab papers unceremoniously crumpling wherever she grips them. She hasn’t even had a chance to read the rest of the documents yet.

“Sabine?” I croak again, the stress clear in my tired voice.

When she still doesn’t answer me, my next breath feels like it takes an hour. But with her continuing silence comes an unexpected cascade effect on my own emotions. The longer I wait, the more that gnarled tangle of unease wrapped around my neck and rib cage warps, morphing slowly into somethingelse.

Something that reads a whole lot more like...satisfaction.Preening like a proud alpha, and all because our ice queen’s frigid walls appear to be melting thanks to a threat toourmortality.

Whatever it is, it’s a harsh and greedy beast—one that, if I dare unmuzzle it, would howl my dark truth for all to hear.The truth being that for the last year, I haven’tonlywanted to protect Sabine Winters, our prized asset in an impending civil war.

No.

I’ve wanted topossessher.

And by the time I’d noticed the shift from familial affection to something…more, it was already too late. She’d lodged herself inside my chest like a piece of stubborn shrapnel; made a home among those quiet types of thoughts where obsession grows.

She’s now the reason I spend every waking moment shoring up the walls of my self-control.

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