Page 141 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"You handled that well."
Asher's voice makes me turn. He's studying the building plans with the same intensity he brings to long-range calculations, but there's something rigid in his posture that wasn't there before the call.
"Professional distance. Isn't that what you taught me?" The bitterness in my voice surprises us both.
He doesn't respond, just continues examining the diagrams as if they hold answers to questions he won't ask.
I stand abruptly, the chair rolling back. "We should go over the infiltration route one more time."
Without waiting for his response, I head downstairs to the kitchen. The open space gives me room to move, to think. I need coffee. Or maybe I need to stop pretending this morning feels normal when everything between us has shifted into something unrecognizable.
The espresso machine hums to life, familiar and comforting. Steam escapes in small puffs as I program the settings. Behind me, Asher's footsteps stop at the kitchen island.
"Vanessa."
Something in his tone makes my shoulders tense. I don't turn around.
"The operation parameters are solid. You've run every scenario." His reflection appears in the stainless steel surface of the coffee machine. "What's really bothering you?"
My hands still on the controls. "Operational parameters? Is that what we're calling this?"
"What do you want me to call it?"
The question hangs between us while coffee streams into the cup below. When I finally face him, he's standing with his arms crossed, that mask of professional detachment firmly in place.
"A conversation. Like normal people have." My voice cracks slightly. "Remember when we used to talk about things that weren't mission-related?"
"We're not normal people."
"No, you're not a normal person. You're a ghost who occasionally remembers he has a body when it's convenient." The words spill out with all the frustration I've been swallowing for weeks. "Do you know what it's like? Having someone hold you like you matter one minute, then treat you like mission equipment the next?"
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his dark eyes. "I'm protecting you."
"From what? Caring too much?" I step closer, anger giving me courage. "Because newsflash, I already care too much. I care so much it keeps me awake at night. I care so much that every time you look at me like I'm just another asset to be managed, it feels like drowning."
The muscle in his jaw jumps. "Feelings compromise operational effectiveness."
"Bullsh—" I catch myself, take a breath. "You want to know what compromises operational effectiveness? Having a partner who's so terrified of connection that he turns into a robot every time things get real."
Thunder rolls overhead, rattling the windows. The storm matches the turbulence building in my chest.
"I'm not built for this." His voice is so quiet I almost miss it.
"For what? Having someone give a damn about whether you come home alive?"
"For having someone I can't afford to lose."
The admission stops my tirade cold. We stare at each other across the kitchen island, the granite surface stretching between us like a chasm.
I move around the counter slowly, deliberately. Each step brings me closer to the man hiding behind tactical precision and emotional armor. When I reach him, I can see the tension in every line of his body.
"Too late." I place my palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath the cotton of his shirt. "You already have someone to lose. The question is whether you're brave enough to keep me."
His breathing changes, becomes shallow and controlled. For a moment, I think he might step away, retreat behind another wall of professional distance.
But his hands come up to frame my face.
"Little bunny." The nickname is rough, broken. "You don't understand what you're asking."
