Page 290 of Fractured Allegiance
He lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. “Then maybe that means we’re still alive.”
I laugh softly, the sound small and tired. “Barely.”
He leans in, his lips near my ear. “Barely’s enough.”
The air feels different after. Quieter. As if the night itself is trying to remember how to breathe again. The fire from earlierhas settled somewhere deep in my chest, pulsing slow and heavy, impossible to extinguish.
Silas hasn’t moved much. He lies on his side, his arm thrown over my waist, his thumb tracing idle shapes against my skin as if he’s memorizing something he’s afraid to forget. The heat between us has dulled to something slower, steadier—less about need, more about proof.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmurs against my shoulder.
I let out a soft sound that could almost be a laugh. “Habit.”
His hand stills. “Don’t start calculating yet. Just stay.”
“I’m not calculating.” I tilt my head slightly to catch his gaze. His eyes look different now—less steel, more ash. “I’m remembering.”
He studies me for a beat, then nods once, as if that’s good enough.
After a while, he says, “They’ll think everything burned tonight.”
My pulse ticks faster. “It almost did.”
His mouth curves at the edge, not a smile exactly. Just acknowledgment. “Almost.”
I roll onto my side to face him. The couch barely contains us. “No one noticed?”
“No one,” he says. “They were too busy watching the blaze.” His gaze catches mine. “You made sure of that.”
I hum, dragging a fingertip along the line of his jaw. “Then they’ll never know what we took.”
The silence that follows is loaded, not with guilt, but with understanding. We both know the weight of what we carried out of Petrov Station—the one piece that didn’t go up in smoke.
Silas reaches over to the floor, picks up his trousers, reaches inside the pocket and he brings out a small metallic object—a flash drive, no bigger than a thumb, plain enough to look harmless.
He holds it between two fingers, studying it like it’s something alive. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.
I nod. “It’s not a ledger. It’s a key. And if the Bureau ever decides you’re still theirs, we’ll need it.”
His thumb presses against the metal casing, thoughtful. “You think they’ll come?”
“I think people like Naomi don’t let go. They just wait until they can tighten the leash again.”
He laughs quietly, the sound low and wrecked from exhaustion. “You sound like you’re fond of her.”
“Fond isn’t the word.” I take the drive from his hand, twirl it once between my fingers, then set it back down. “But she’s predictable. That’s worth something.”
He watches me for a long moment, and there’s something almost proud in his expression, like he’s seeing a part of me he’s always known was there—the strategist who never leaves a door fully closed.
“Let her try,” he says finally. “We’ll see who’s still standing.”
“We?”
His gaze softens, though his voice stays firm. “You think I burned my badge just to leave you handling the mess alone?”
That earns a quiet, tired smile from me. “You’re a terrible agent, Ward.”
“Former agent.” He brushes his knuckles along my jaw, the touch rough but careful. “And maybe the smartest thing I ever did was get caught by up in the web of you.”
