Page 72 of Silent Schemes
He responds immediately, backing me against his desk, papers scattering to the floor like white flags of surrender.
"Sienna—"
"Don't talk," I plead against his mouth. "Just... I needyou. Not the game, not the scheming. You."
He pulls back enough to look at me,reallylook at me, and what he sees makes him exhale sharply. "You're scared."
"Terrified," I admit, the truth scraping my throat raw.
"Of them?"
"Of this. Of us. Of what I'm becoming with you."
Of the future that gets darker every day.
This time is different from all the others.
There's desperation, yes, but also something deeper.
Something that feels dangerously close to love.
When he carries me to the bedroom, when he removes my clothes with reverent fingers that shake slightly, when he kisses every mark Bastian left like he can erase it with his mouth, I understand that I'm lost.
Completely, irrevocably lost.
We move together with the urgency of people who know time is running out, even if only one of us knows exactly how little time we have left.
Every touch is a goodbye we're not ready to say.
Every kiss is a promise we might not be able to keep.
When he says my name like a prayer, when I trace the scars I've memorized like a map home, we're not predator and prey anymore.
We're just two broken people trying to build something whole from the pieces.
The afternoon light slants through the windows, painting us gold and shadow, and I try to memorize this moment—the weight of him, the taste of his skin, the way he looks at me like I'm something precious instead of poisonous.
This might be the last time we have this, before everything goes to hell.
After lying in the dark with his arms around me, sweat cooling on our skin, hearts slowly returning to normal rhythm, he speaks into the silence.
"Whatever they threatened you with, I can protect you from it."
The certainty in his voice makes me want to cry.
He doesn't know about the flash drive, about Will, about the countdown that's already started.
He doesn't know that in four weeks, either he'll be dead or I will.
"No," I whisper into the darkness. "You can't protect me from you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're the weapon they'll use against me. My feelings for you. They know, Varrick. They know I've fallen—" I stop myself before the words escape, but it's too late.
"Say it," he demands softly, his arms tightening around me.
"I can't."
