Page 100 of Over the Edge

“Pay up,” Leo said immediately, holding out his hand to Nolan. “Told you they wouldn’t kill each other.”

“She could still change her mind,” Nolan grumbled, reaching for his wallet.

I met Flynn’s gaze and found him already watching me, amusement dancing in his eyes. He winked, a silent acknowledgment of our shared secret—that whatever lay ahead, we’d face it together.

For the first time since Elodie died, the future didn’t look like something to survive. It looked like something to embrace.

“Conference room,” Ethan called from down the hall, his voice carrying the authority that had earned him command of Edge Ops. “Debrief in five. That means all of you.”

As the team began moving toward the conference room, Flynn’s hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with my own in a gesture that felt both possessive and protective. It should have made me uncomfortable—this public display, this acknowledgment of attachment. Instead, it felt right. Natural. As if all the broken, jagged pieces of my life were finally beginning to fit together into something whole.

“Ready, Siren?” Flynn asked.

I squeezed his hand, meeting his gaze with newfound certainty. “Ready, Outlaw.”

Whatever came next—whatever mission, whatever danger—we would face it as partners. As a team. And for now, that was enough.

CHAPTER31

FLYNN

The Thai placehad been everything I’d promised—authentic enough to make Lyric close her eyes in pleasure at the first bite of green curry. But as good as dinner had been, I was more interested in showing her my new place. Not because it was impressive—just the opposite. I needed her to see how little I owned, how easily I could have disappeared again. I needed her to understand that choosing to stay was the biggest commitment I’d made in thirteen years.

“Home sweet home,” I said, unlocking the door to my twelfth-floor apartment. “Such as it is.”

Lyric stepped past me into the open-concept living area, her eyes taking in the sparse furnishings—a leather couch I’d picked up two days ago, a coffee table still bearing the assembly instructions, and not much else. The kitchen gleamed with unused appliances, and the dining area hosted a small table with exactly two chairs. No art on the walls, no photos, no personal touches at all. Just the essentials and the spectacular view of Puget Sound through floor-to-ceiling windows.

“It’s very...” Lyric paused, searching for a diplomatic word.

“Empty?” I supplied, closing the door behind us. “Yeah, I know.”

She turned to me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I was going to say ‘minimalist,’ but empty works too.”

I shrugged, tossing my keys on the kitchen counter. “Never saw much point in accumulating stuff when I might need to bug out at a moment’s notice.”

“And now?” She moved to the windows, silhouetted against the city lights reflecting off the dark water of Puget Sound below.

I came up behind her, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching. “Now I’m thinking maybe a bookshelf. Some actual dishes instead of takeout containers.”

“Wild,” she teased, but I could hear the underlying question. Was I really staying? Could she trust that I wouldn’t disappear again?

Damn Ethan for not telling her I hadn’t abandoned her; I was just off the grid. And damn myself for not taking the time to tell her myself.

“I picked this place for the view,” I told her, deflecting slightly. “And the security. Reinforced door, keycard elevator access, digital locks, and clear sightlines to all approach vectors.”

“The real estate agent must have loved that particular request.”

I laughed. “She thought I was paranoid. Showed me some ground-floor units with ‘charming garden access’ until I explained I preferred not to be murdered in my sleep.”

Lyric’s smile was more genuine this time. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But alive,” I countered. “Want the tour? It’s pretty quick—living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. End of tour.”

She followed me through the apartment, her fingers trailing over surfaces as if testing their solidity. In the bedroom, a king-sized mattress sat on a simple frame, still unmade from where I’d rolled out of it this morning. A duffel bag rested in one corner, half-unpacked, and a gun safe was bolted to the closet wall—the only thing I’d installed permanently so far.

“I see the priorities,” Lyric said, nodding toward the safe.

“I’m setting down roots, not going soft.”

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