Page 140 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
I've never provided safety before. Only death. Only distance.
This responsibility—her trust, her surrender, her peace—feels both right and overwhelming.
I stare at the ceiling. Evaluate the variables. Measure the risk. Protection creates vulnerability. Safety requires closeness. Neither is compatible with operational parameters.
Her breathing deepens as she drifts toward sleep. Her body warm and trusting against mine. Her trust presses against my chest, heavier than any tactical gear I've ever worn.
I should pull away. Establish distance. Plan an exit strategy.
But I hold her close, her trust heavy against my chest. The words I can't say aloud echo in my head:I'm falling for you, and that makes me the most dangerous person in your life.
thirty-six
Vanessa
"You've told me the transmission specs three times already."
I spin around to face Asher, who's watching me pace his living room with that calculating stare. Every surface around us is covered with our equipment. Laptops, monitors, communication devices, and tactical gear scattered across his once-pristine space.
My fingers tap against my thigh in an irregular rhythm. The familiar itch of anxiety crawls under my skin, making stillness impossible. "I know, but if the primary channel gets compromised—"
"The backup will activate automatically." His voice carries that cool, clinical tone that's been driving me crazy all morning. "You programmed it yourself."
The fog presses against his floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the morning light gray and muted. We're suspended in a cloud, cut off from the world, and the weather isn't helping my nerves.
"I should call Slate. Get the updated server access codes." The words tumble out before I can stop them.
Asher's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Upstairs. Secure line in the tactical room."
I grab my phone and head for the staircase, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, his footsteps follow.
The tactical planning room is pure Asher. Surveillance photos of Vertex Models cover one wall, building diagrams with entry points marked on another. The large window offers a strategic view of San Francisco's skyline, now just ghostly shapes in the dense fog.
I settle at his desk and input Slate's number into the secure communication system. It rings twice before his familiar voice comes through the speakers.
"Thank God, Nessa. I've been trying to reach you—"
"This is a secured line. You're on speaker with Frost." My voice sounds hollow, detached.
Asher positions himself behind my chair, his presence both protective and distant. Close enough to shield me, far enough to maintain the invisible wall he's built since I nearly died.
"Right. Okay." Slate's tone shifts to match mine, professional, empty of the warmth that used to exist between us. "Security rotation is every thirty minutes. Blind spot at the northeast corner, seven minutes after each change. Today's server codes are 847392, and they'll reset at midnight."
My fingers fly across the keyboard, taking notes. Each technical detail gets filed away in neat mental compartments labeled 'operational necessity' instead of 'helping the man who used to make me laugh.'
"Backup access through the emergency maintenance tunnel. Entrance is on the northwest side, concealed behind the dumpster. Security camera has a five-second delay on the loop. That's your window."
"Got it." I finish typing and lean back in the chair. "Anything else?"
"Yeah." His voice softens slightly. "Be careful, Nessa. These people—"
"I know what they are." The words come out sharper than intended. "We're good here."
The silence stretches until Slate clears his throat.
"Got it. Griffin out."
I end the call from the secure system and stare at my phone screen until it goes dark. My reflection stares back from the black surface—pale, tense, nothing like the confident hacker who used to crack jokes with Slate during late-night coding sessions.
