Page 84 of Mason

I don’t miss the way the security presence has doubled—men stationed at strategic corners, their eyes trained on us, hands ghosting over the unmistakable bulge of weapons.

He’s already planned for every possibility.

Even now, when the immediate threat is gone, he’s preparing for the next one.

And that kills me.

That he can never turn it off. That his peace only exists in fleeting moments, and even then, it’s always laced with the bitter edge of paranoia.

I reach for his hand on the table, curling my fingers around his wrist. “Mason,” I say softly.

His eyes snap to mine.

For a second—just a second—something eases in his expression. But then?—

Jayson appears beside us, murmuring a quiet greeting before leaning in, his voice low, urgent as he speaks to Mason.

Mason stiffens. His jaw ticks, and then, without a word, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, setting it on the table between us.

Jayson steps back. Leaves without another word.

My brow furrows. “What’s that?”

Mason doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he opens the box and lifts something delicate, elegant, catching the sunlight in a thin gleam of metal.

A bracelet.

He takes my wrist in his hands, gently, reverently, and fastens it in place.

I stare at it, something unsettlingly intimate about the way it sits against my skin, its weight too light to be innocent.

“I—Mason, it’s beautiful, but?—”

His fingers brush against my pulse, slow and deliberate, his voice quiet, rough, weighted with something unspoken.

“If you ever feel unsafe,” he murmurs, tapping the small, hidden clasp, “press this button.” His thumb trails over the cool metal, and when he lifts his gaze to mine, there’s nothing casual about it.

His next words are a promise and a warning all at once.

“And I’ll find you. No matter where you are.”

My stomach flips.

Not because of the bracelet. Not because of the implication of what it is—a tracker, a lifeline, a tether that ensures he never loses me.

But because of the way he’s looking at me.

Like the idea of something happening to me is unbearable.

Like he would burn the entire world down to get to me if I ever needed him.

I swallow. Hard.

“Is this a tracker?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend. “Are you going to be following me around everywhere, Mason?”

His hand tightens over mine, but his voice is softer now, steadier.

“This is your panic button,” he corrects. “It’s more for my own peace of mind.”

---