Page 101 of Over the Edge

She snorted and continued exploring the space. She paused by the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared out over downtown Seattle. I waited, watching, trying to read her expression. Something was off. There was a tightness around her eyes, a tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there during dinner.

I crossed to her and turned her gently by the shoulders to face me. “Lyric, I know words don’t mean much after I disappeared on you. But I need you to understand something.” I gestured at the empty apartment. “This isn’t just a place to crash between missions. This is me putting down roots for the first time since Yemen.”

Her green eyes searched mine, and I hated that look of guarded suspicion. Hated that she had every right to doubt me.

If I had to spend every second of the rest of my life earning her trust back, I would.

“Roots,” I added softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “for you. I want you to live here with me.”

Her eyes widened slightly at that, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed. The defensive wall she’d maintained all evening faltered, just for a moment.

“Flynn,” she breathed. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Yes, I can.” I stepped closer and curled my hand around the back of her neck, drawing her closer. “Because it’s true.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor between us, and I felt her shiver beneath my touch. “What if it doesn’t work? What if this—us—falls apart? Then what?”

“Princess, we survived Sentinel together. We can survive anything.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, and the vulnerability in her voice cut through me. “Surviving drones and arms dealers is one thing. This—” she gestured between us, “—is something else entirely.”

I traced my thumb along her jawline, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my touch. “I know it scares you. It scares me too.”

Her eyes met mine, surprise flashing across her face. “You? Scared?”

“Terrified,” I admitted. “I’ve spent thirteen years making sure I never needed anyone. Then you walked into my life on those dagger-sharp heels and glared at me, and everything changed.”

“After Elodie died,” she said quietly, “I promised myself I’d never be vulnerable again. That I’d never give anyone the power to devastate me like that. And then you—” Her voice caught. “You nearly died in my arms, Flynn. Your heart stopped.”

“It didn’t stop. It just… wasn’t beating right for a few minutes.”

She shot me the same glare that made me fall head-over-heels in love with her in Monte Carlo. “You’re not helping yourself here, buddy.”

“You’re right.” I let my hands fall away from her face and took a step back, giving her room to breathe, to think. “I did almost die, and it scared the hell out of me, too. I cope with that by being glib. I’m sorry.”

The space between us felt suddenly vast. My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched her struggle with whatever was going on inside her head.

“You okay?” I asked finally.

She nodded too quickly. “Fine.”

“Lyric.” I kept my voice soft. “It’s me.”

Her composure cracked, just a hairline fracture, but I saw it—the slight tremble of her lower lip before she caught it between her teeth. She turned toward the window again, arms wrapped around herself like armor.

“I lied,” she said so quietly I had to strain to hear. “I’m not fine.”

I moved to stand beside her, but didn’t touch her again. “Want to talk about it?”

She was silent for so long I thought she might not answer. When she finally spoke, her voice had a brittle quality that made my chest ache.

“I can’t stop feeling his hands.”

I didn’t need to ask whose hands. Moreau. The memory of him touching her while she was paralyzed, helpless, made rage coil in my gut like a venomous snake. I’d killed men for less, but Moreau was already dead by Lyric’s own hand. There was no one left to punish.

“Every night,” she continued, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the window, “I wake up feeling them. His fingers on my face, in my hair… everywhere.” She shuddered. “He touched me like he owned me, Flynn. And I couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight back. Couldn’t even tell him to go to hell.”

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, fighting to keep my expression neutral. She didn’t need my anger right now; she needed my support.

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