Page 114 of Knight

I assess the moment the way I would a system vulnerability, breaking it down piece by piece. The urge to touch her isn’t tactical. It’s not about breaking into a new computer system, or achieving an objective. It was pure instinct … the kind I’ve spent years training myself not to develop.

My hand drops back to my side, the movement making my shoulder wound throb, but the desire to touch her remains. Even knowing better, even recognizing the danger, Istillwant to brush that hair from her face. Want to touch her just because I can. Because it would comfort her. Because it would comfortme.

Andthatis my first warning.

I don’t do comfort. I don’t seek physical contact. I definitely don’t develop the kind of instincts that make me reach for someone without conscious thought. These reactions are foreign.Dangerous. Evidence of defenses failing at the most basic level.

Eva shifts in her sleep, curling closer to the bed, fingers moving across the sheet searching out mine. Even unconscious, she needs to know I’m still here. Still breathing. The contact should bother me. It should set off every defense mechanism I’ve developed over years of keeping people at arm’s length.

Instead, I’m studying the curve of her spine, the way she’s folded herself into that fucking chair. Everything about her position screams comfort. Familiarity. Like she belongs in that space beside me. Like she’s carved out a place for herself that I never meant to allow.

My brain catalogs details with growing unease. The exact distance between the chair and bed—close enough for easy contact but far enough not to disturb me. The angle of her body—protective without being smothering. The way she’s arranged herself to maintain awareness of the door while staying focused on me.

When did she learn my security protocols well enough to position herself perfectly within them? When did I start accepting her presence as natural rather than assessing it as a potential threat?

The questions drive deeper analysis. She’s not just here in the room. She’s embedded herself into my space in ways Ididn’t see coming. She’s learned my patterns. Adapted to my requirements. Made herself essential rather than just present.

That is my second warning.

Bishop appears in the doorway. His sharp gaze takes in every detail. Eva’s position, my lack of tension at her presence. I catch the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his attention focuses on where her hand rests close to mine.

He’s seen me enforce distance before. Watched me shut down any attempts at personal connection. The fact that he’s not commenting now says more than words could. My brother knows exactly what it means that I’ve let someone this close.

Eva stirs, awareness returning. I should pull away. Should start rebuilding the distance I’ve let erode. Instead, I find myself covering her hand with mine, offering silent reassurance.

The gesture is automatic.Natural. Like touching her is something I just do now.

My pulse kicks up as I recognize another layer of compromised defenses. I’m not just accepting her touch, I’mactivelyseeking it. Initiating contact. Offering comfort I have no business giving.

When did that happen?

When did I stop counting the ways she could be a threat and start reaching for her? When did keeping my distance become harder than allowing connection?

The third warning sets off alarms in my head.

"How’s the pain?" Sleep roughens her voice as her eyes flutter open.

The instinct to deflect rises automatically. To rebuild the walls that have kept me alive all these years. But something stops the dismissive response before it forms.

She’s watching me withthatexpression. The one that says she sees straight through my deflections. That she’s learned toread not just my words, but my silences. My body language. The million tiny tells I didn’t even know I had.

Why can I read her expressions so well?

My chest tightens as I list all the ways she’s breached my defenses. She doesn’t justseethe walls, she’s learned to navigate them. Learned when to push and when to back off.

When did she start reading me so easily? When did I start letting her?

"Here." She reaches for the water beside the bed, helping me sit up to drink. Her movements are sure, confident. Like she’s been doing this forever. Like this intimacy between us is normal.

My mind tracks how perfectly she times her assistance. How naturally she anticipates my needs. How completely she’s learned to move in my space without triggering defensive responses.

Warning number four flashes red lights.

Rook joins Bishop in the doorway, and I don’t miss the silent exchange they share. They’ve seen me retreat when people get too close. Watched me shut down potential attachments before they can form.

Their concern radiates across the room. They’ve never seen me let anyone get this far past my defenses. Never seen me allow this kind of integration into my life.

"Your brothers gave Michael something to help him sleep." Eva settles back into the chair, still close enough to touch. The casual way she refers to them … not as ‘your family’or‘Bishop and Rook’but as‘your brothers’… catches my attention.

---