Page 50 of Zorro

The keycard in her pocket burned like it was branding her. Her hand drifted there, clutching the fabric, the outline of Zorro’s silent plea pressing into her palm.

Come to me because you need me.

The grief. The rage. The years of silence dressed up as virtue. It all cracked, clean and quiet, like a fault line finally splitting beneath her ribs.

Then, softer now. Almost tender, she said, “He used you, too, didn’t he?”

Madeline nodded, the truth falling into place.

“You were his public. I was his private.” Madeline let out a breath that sounded like surrender. “He needed to be adored,” she whispered. “You outshone him from the start. He told me once your mind made him feel invisible. So, he stole it. I let him. I loved him. But I knew he didn’t love me. He didn’t love you either, Everly. He just…used us.”

Everly didn’t speak for a long moment. “I think…we were both caught in the same trap. Just from different sides.”

Madeline nodded once, slowly.

“You deserved more than he gave you,” she said. “You always did.”

Everly stood and slowly, no rage, just clarity.

She met Madeline’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said and meant it. Then she turned and walked out of the room like she was walking off a battlefield, because maybe she was. But she had no intention of carrying his body with her.

She didn’t feel lighter. Not yet. But she did feel clearer.

She had spent years trying to be good enough to be loved. Noble enough. Unshakable enough. Forgiving enough. Rob had watched her do it and still turned away.

The pain wasn’t just that he had cheated. It was that she’d given him so much, and he’d treated it with indifference.

But Zorro…Zorro saw her when she was brittle and bleeding, and he hadn’t flinched.

The keycard in her pocket was just warm now, a question.

Are you ready to stop punishing yourself?

8

At the hotel, they piled into the van out front. Not in formation, just sweaty, grudging proximity.

“Jesus,” Blitz muttered. “That’s my foot, Buck, you oaf.”

Buck shoved Blitz, who didn’t budge. “Move closer to the window. Your heavy ass is taking up half the row.”

“Make me, cowboy,” Blitz replied, adjusting his elbow to crush a little more spine.

“A backhoe couldn’t move him,” Buck grumbled.

Professor tried to slice through the tension with something about infrastructure codes for sloped concrete.

“Shut your egghead mouth,” Buck said, not even looking at him. “Or I’ll fit you for cement shoes.”

“I’ll help him,” D-Day said.

Buck wrinkled his nose. “Fuck, did you shower Blitz or just full-body rubbed yourself with your grandpappy’s lineament?” He gave him side-eye. “Hard to believe you keep a woman like Bree happy.”

Blitz smirked. “I do. She was the one who rubbed me down.”

A collective groan rolled through the van.

“Goddamn it,” Buck muttered.

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