Page 100 of Marked to Be Mine

The silence between us had become another presence in the room—dense and suffocating. Even our breathing seemed calculated, as if neither of us wanted to disturb the fragile détente we’d established.

I opened another file from the Oblivion data, deliberately pulling up Ronan’s personnel assessment. I found myself staring at his cold, clinical evaluation, wondering why I’d opened it in particular. Something about the language fascinated and horrified me—the way they’d reduced him to data points and performance metrics.

My journalist’s instinct kicked in as I scanned the text:

The subject demonstrates an exceptional capacity for calculated violence without performance degradation. Unlike previous subjects, exhibits pathological detachment during elimination protocols while maintaining strategic awareness.

I glanced at him—his head bent in concentration, jaw set in a hard line. The man described in these files seemed both alien and familiar.

Neural conditioning remains stable through Generation Prima modifications. Trauma response successfully redirected into mission parameters. The subject shows the highest pain threshold in program history.

Another stolen glance. The scar at his temple caught the light, a permanent reminder of what they’d done to him. I noticed how he breathed—perfectly spaced, controlled. Even now, his discipline never wavered.

Recommendation: Continue specialized deployment for high-complexity eliminations. Note: The subject exhibits a concerning pattern of mission parameter interpretation when operational autonomy exceeds 72 hours.

My fingers paused over the keyboard. I leaned forward, forgetting to maintain my careful disinterest. These weren’t just files anymore—this was Ronan. This was the man across from me, reduced to cold assessment by the people who broke and remade him.

WARNING: Subject displays abnormal resistance to memory suppression protocols. Recommend shortened field deployment cycles and increased conditioning maintenance.

I scrolled further, my shoulders hunching forward as I pressed closer to the screen. My anger had transformed into something else—a desperate need to understand the contradiction sitting yards away from me.

Asset shows concerning compassionate patterns during deep cover operations. Recommend psychological recalibration focusing on empathetic response suppression.

The irony stole my breath. Even as Oblivion tried to erase his humanity, it kept resurfacing. I memorized phrases, technical specifications, storing them away not just as evidence but as pieces of the puzzle that was Ronan—

The sudden absence of sound broke my concentration. The rhythmic clicking of metal parts had stopped.

A prickling sensation ran up my spine. I sensed movement in my peripheral vision—a shadow shifting where there shouldn’t be one.

I stared at my monitor a moment too long, catching his reflection in the darkened portions of my screen. He was halfway across the room already, his posture transformed into something predatory.

I refused to look up as his shadow fell across my keyboard. His reflection loomed on my screen—tall, imposing, radiating controlled rage. My fingers continued typing nonsense, muscle memory taking over while my mind raced. When I finally met his gaze, his eyes locked onto mine, then flicked to the screen where his file lay open.

“Satisfying your curiosity about the monster?” His voice cut through the silence. The words hung between us, sharp-edged and dangerous.

My instinct to deny it died in my throat. Instead, I straightened my spine and reached for the professional armor I’d relied on throughout my career. “I’m finishing my reportso my contacts can publish immediately after we move on to Brock tomorrow. Just doing my job.”

He circled behind me, his movements so silent I had to fight the urge to turn and track him. The hair on my neck rose as I felt him studying me.

I didn’t understand any of this. How could he have held me so tenderly, been so protective over me, only for his mind to change entirely now? Despite what Specter had told me, I could barely recognize him, and that scared the hell out of me. Was he truly trying to protect me, or was he already shifting to the man he once was? I refused to believe the latter. I refused to accept it as an option.

“And what’s your protection plan after publication? Once this goes public, you’ll be hunted by more than just Oblivion.”

I deliberately dismissed him without looking up, fingers continuing to type. “That’s none of your business, as you so clearly pointed out.” Each word was aimed like a bullet, my journalist’s shield sliding into place.

Ronan moved with assassin’s speed, suddenly at my side. The heat radiating from his body made it harder to maintain my composure. “None of my business?” His voice dropped dangerously.

My pulse jumped, but I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let him see how he affected me.

“I know exactly how much you don’t want me here. We don’t need to talk or even be close, do we? In fact, Specter can update me about any mission changes if necessary.”

Something dark flashed across Ronan’s face at Specter’s name—a visible crack in his control that sent warning signals racing through my body.

In one fluid motion too fast to counter, he closed the distance between us, spinning my chair and pulling me to my feet. My back hit the concrete wall as he caged me in, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my arm with enough pressure to hold, not enough to hurt.

“So that’s it?” His voice dropped to a growl, face inches from mine. “The moment I want to protect you, you run to Specter? Was that embrace I walked in on earlier just the beginning?”

The accusation landed a slap. Not fear but rage flooded my system, cold and clarifying. I turned slightly away, my voice dropping to deadly calm. “You think I’d run to another man? That I’d just replace you like switching weapons?” A bitter laugh escaped me as I met his gaze directly. “You’ve always seen the worst in me, haven’t you? You look at me and see weakness. A liability. Something to be shipped away and protected, or avoided like a complication you can’t solve.” I delivered the final blow with ice in my voice. “Well, don’t worry,Reaper. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Then you can go back to being whatever version of yourself helps you sleep at night.”

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