Page 44 of Anchor
“This isn’t D.C.,” she said.
He leaned against the edge of the credenza. “No. It’s worse. It’s real.”
Heather’s jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t be here. Not now.”
Vos raised his glass. “And yet…”
They both drank. Silence settled thick between them.
He wore black, as always. The kind of man who looked like he carried his past in his coat lining. The tie was gone, collar open. Rain clung to his cuffs. His voice was steady when it came. “She looked beautiful tonight.”
Heather didn’t reply. Her jaw locked, eyes fixed on the window like she could see past the city lights to something steadier, safer.
Vos walked toward her, closing just enough distance to make the silence heavy. “I did the test. You know that.”
“I read the file,” Heather snapped. “Numbers don’t lie.”
“But people do,” Vos murmured.
Her voice became bitter. “And Ian Chase is one of them.”
Vos’s mouth curved faintly, not in amusement but in warning. “You raised her in your image. Built her into a weapon wrapped in manners. And now you’re surprised she’s slipping through your hands.”
“She’s safe.”
“No,” Vos’s tone sharpened like a blade drawn free, “she’s visible. And visibility is a target. She puts herself on that stage again, and Chase wins. He’ll claim her outright. He’ll have the daughter of Joe Bowman standing under his flag, not yours.”
Heather’s eyes blazed, fury raw at the edges. “He is not her father.”
Vos leaned in, voice low, precise. “Then stop letting him play the part. Because if she keeps moving toward him, toward them,she doesn’t just vanish from your orbit, she becomes leverage. And leverage is how wars end badly.”
Heather drew in a hard breath, fists curling against her sides.
Vos’s final words cut without heat, only certainty. “If you can’t stop her, I will. Because Ian Chase won’t bury her. He’ll crown her. And that, Heather, is far more dangerous.”
He was right in front of her now. Close enough that she could smell the leather of his jacket, the citrus of the soap on his skin, and the sharp burn of whatever came before regret.
“You think I don’t know what you are, Lucien?”
“You do,” he said, softer now. “That’s the problem.”
Her hand came up, aiming a slap, but he caught her wrist midair. Not hard, just final. They stood there, breath close, the sun not yet risen, the city still asleep.
“You think I’m the man who ruined your life,” he said. “But I’m the only one who ever told you the truth.”
Heather’s eyes burned. “You’re the only one I ever wanted to destroy.”
“Then why do you still taste like need?”
She didn’t kiss him. But she didn’t pull away when he kissed her.
Their mouths met with the quiet violence of unfinished business. Her drink spilled down her wrist, his fingers buried in her hair. It wasn’t romance. It was collapse. A ritual of want they never quite knew how to stop craving.
The city outside began to lighten. But inside the suite, it was still dark. And nothingwas resolved.
FIFTEEN
CHASE ANN ARBOR – TRAINING ANNEX – ONE WEEK LATER
