Page 50 of Over the Edge

I watched the walls slamming back into place, her expression shuttering closed, her body language shifting from soft to guarded in the space of a heartbeat.

The change was immediate and heartbreaking.

“Morning,” I said, keeping my voice casual despite the sudden tightness in my chest.

“Morning.” She pulled the sheet up to cover herself, a pointless gesture after everything we’d done last night, but telling all the same. She sat up, gaze darting around the room like she was assessing threats and exits.

I’d seen that look before. Hell, I’d worn it myself enough times. But seeing it on her face now, directed at me, felt like a knife between my ribs.

She finally exhaled hard and shoved her hair back from her face. “What time is it?”

“Just after seven.”

Lyric nodded and got out of bed, keeping the sheet wrapped around her like armor. She didn’t look at me as she reached for her phone on the nightstand, scrolling through notifications with more focus than the task required. “Ethan’s pissed.”

“Of course he is.” I flopped back against my pillow and stretched my arms over my head. “I expected nothing less from Grim.”

“He wants a full debrief at eight.”

Jesus, the ice in her voice could freeze a guy at ten paces. This wasn’t the woman who’d moaned my name last night, who’d laughed breathlessly as we collapsed in a tangle of limbs. This was Siren—professional, detached, and completely unreachable.

“Hey,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow. “You okay?”

“Fine.” The word was clipped, dismissive. “Just trying to figure out what I’m going to say to him. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t fire me on the spot.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She finally looked at me. I would’ve preferred to see annoyance or anger or anything else other than that carefully neutral expression. “Look, Flynn. Last night was... intense. The chase, the fight, the adrenaline. Sex was a natural release valve.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “A release valve?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No.” I swung my legs over the bed and stood, not bothering with modesty. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Her gaze dropped down my body, but she caught herself and quickly looked away. She tightened her grip on the sheet like it could protect her from this conversation.

“It was good. Really good. But it was just sex.”

Just sex. My chest tightened. Not with anger, though there was plenty of that brewing, but with something that felt dangerously close to hurt. “That wasn’t ‘just’ anything and you know it.”

“Oh, don’t make this complicated, Flynn.” She sighed, turning away to gather her scattered clothes from the floor. “It was the circumstances. The danger. The near-death experience. It’s textbook. A biological imperative to affirm life after facing mortality. Let’s just chalk it up to a heat-of-the-moment mistake and move on.

“A mistake?” I echoed, disbelief crawling up my throat. “Which part exactly? When you begged me to fuck you harder? Or when you came screaming my name the second time? Or maybe the third?”

Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes went cold. “Don’t be crude.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

That hit. I saw it in the way her jaw tightened, the slight flinch she couldn’t quite suppress. “I’m not afraid of you.” She turned away. “And we don’t have time for this. I’m going to shower.

“No?” I moved around the bed, positioning myself in her path. “Then look at me.”

“Flynn—”

“Look at me, Lyric.”

Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to mine, and for a split second, I saw it—that flash of vulnerability, of want, before she buried it beneath layers of ice.

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