Page 29 of Over the Edge

He didn’t wait for a response. Just gave a faint smile and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

I stared at the closed door. When I first signed on, I wanted to be part of this team. For someone who spent most of her life alone, wearing identities like coats, the idea of belonging, of being known, had been seductive.

But now…

I realized I never would be. Not really. Not to them.

“Hey,” Flynn said, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “You okay?”

I blinked, pushing down the unwelcome tightness in my throat. “Fine.”

“Liar.” His fingers brushed my cheek, tilting my face toward his. “You’re thinking too loud.”

I stepped back, suddenly unable to handle his gentleness. I wanted the cocky version of Flynn back. The one who smirked and teased and didn’t look at me like hesawme.

Because I knew how to handlehim. This version, with worry in his eyes and softness in his touch? I didn’t know what to do with that.

So I took the coward’s way out and spun toward the door. “We should go. Grim’s waiting.”

CHAPTER9

LYRIC

The debrief had been mercifullyshort.

Ethan didn’t ask what I was doing in Flynn’s hotel room. He didn’t need to—he wasn’t stupid, and his glare had spoken volumes. But to my surprise, he didn’t pull me from the op. Didn’t cancel the meeting with Moreau. In fact, he agreed it was our best shot at securing an invite to the auction.

A win, technically.

Except now I had a handler.

The team had set up in Flynn’s hotel, taking over several adjoining rooms to form a command center. Now, Ethan wanted check-ins after every contact and updates before and after every meeting. Real-time surveillance from the tracker Ozzy embedded in my watch. I was supposed to improvise like a good little spy, but nottoomuch. Blend in, seduce, manipulate—but only within parameters he’d approved in advance.

Like I was a marionette.

I didn’t know if he was reacting to Maya’s death or punishing me for not being her, but either way, it was clear Ethan didn’t trust me. Not completely.

And that made two of us. I’ve worked with men balancing on the razor’s edge of burnout before, and it never ended well.

I took a long, steadying breath, but it didn’t settle the knot twisting in my gut.

Ethan wanted Elisa Deveraux—Maya’s polished creation, all smooth edges and effortless seduction. And I could be her. God, I’d become her so convincingly, even I wasn’t always sure where she ended and I began. But Elisa wasn’t a person. She was a performance. A product of grief and necessity and carefully calibrated control.

And tonight, I had to sell that performance to a man who dealt in death like it was currency.

There wouldn’t be backup. No safety net. No one waiting in the wings if I flinched at the wrong moment or said the wrong thing. Just me, Moreau, and whatever price he decided I was worth.

So I braced myself.

And became her.

The dress I chose for dinner was a black silk sheath with Elisa’s signature plunging neckline and a slit that reached up to my thigh. I pulled it on like armor, smoothing the fabric as I studied my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at me was composed, polished, every inch the kind of woman a man like Moreau would want to own.

I caught movement in the mirror and lifted my gaze to meet Flynn’s. He lounged in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes stormy. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since we left the team, watching me like he was one wrong breath away from detonating.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said finally, voice low and rough.

I reached for my earrings, sliding the delicate diamonds into place without breaking eye contact in the mirror. “Yes, I do.”

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