That I was being played.
But even that didn’t lessen the pull I felt toward her.
It didn’t kill the instinct to protect her.
Even if I didn’t know what I was protecting.
Or why.
Because the second Castor showed me that bounty, the decision had already been made.
I didn’t need to think.
If I didn’t get to her first, someone else would.
And if they got their hands on her before I did…
If she was innocent… she’d never see the light of day again.
So, I made a plan.
Simple. Efficient.
Hold her hostage. Uncover the truth. Keep her alive. Get to Klay. End it.
It should be easy.
It was the kind of thing Castor and I had done a thousand times over.
But my focus was a fragile thing around her.
She had the power to unravel me with a glance.
With a single word.
With every unguarded moment she handed me, I became less of the man I was supposed to be.
And more of the thing I swore I’d never become.
The third time she walked away, I saw it.
The shift.
She didn’t run.
She didn’t fight.
She lingered.
Just for a second, but long enough for me to see the crack in her armor.
The defeat in her eyes.
Her spirit—once stubborn, feral, wild—was cracked and subdued.
And I hated myself for it.
But it was necessary.