Page 134 of Dual
“What will you name him?” Chloe asks softly, wiping her hands on a clean towel.
I look down at my son, this miracle born from violence and chaos, this perfect thing that came from two broken people learning how to love each other.
“Connor,” I say finally. “His name is Connor.”
And as I hold him against my heart, listening to his soft breathing, I know that Red is gone forever—that cold killer dissolved with the warmth of new life. What remains is stronger than either Anna or Mads ever were alone: a mother who will do anything to protect what’s hers, who has the strength of both my light and my darkness united in love.
FORTY-ONE
December
DOMHNALL
It’s beenradio silence from Anna or Mads for a month.
I suppose not complete silence. A few texts have trickled through like water torture—just enough to keep me from losing my mind entirely, but nowhere near enough to quench this burning need to know she’s safe.
Only one message came through after whatever the hell had happened at that mountain fortress deep in Russia. I scoured every satellite feed for days afterward, burned through favors with contacts I’d spent yearscultivating, and even reached out to connections I’d sworn I’d never use again. Still, there wasn’t a single glimpse of her.
I have no idea how she got in or out. The woman moves like smoke when she wants to. A skill that once made her valuable to dangerous people and is now turned toward some mission she won’t explain.
I all but tore my hair out by the roots that day, pacing this fortress of a house like a caged beast. Every room echoes with her absence. The kitchen where we fought. The dungeon where we played. The bedroom where we loved.
I waited, checking our encrypted channels obsessively, for something—anything—from her, only to receive a simple message through our dark web system:Mission accomplished, love. Still won’t be home for a while. There’s been another complication.
Infuriating woman.
Another complication. As if my heart hadn’t already been ripped from my chest and left bleeding on the floor when she walked out eight months ago. As if I haven’t been slowly dying inside, one agonizing day at a time, wondering if each text will be the last.
I thought the hold I have on Anna—that sweet, vulnerable part of her—meant she’d keep calling just to hear my voice. That she’d need the connection the way I do, like a drowning man needs air. But no. These clinical, emotionless texts are all I’ve had to sustain me. Scraps when I’m starving for a feast.
“Would you sit the fuck down? You’re making me dizzy.”
Moira’s voice cuts through my brooding. I hadn’t even heard them arrive—her and Bane, Isaak and Kira with their baby. They’ve been doing this more frequently, these interventions disguised as social visits. As if their presence could fill the gaping wound in my chest.
“I’ll sit down when I feel like sitting down,” I retort, pausing mid-pace before resuming.
“So... never, then?” Moira flops onto my couch with her characteristic lack of grace. “You gonna just wear a trench in your fancy floor by the time MadAnna gets back?”
Bane settles beside her with more dignity, his hand automatically finding her knee. The casual intimacy of it makes something twist in my gut. They found their way back to each other. Why can’t Anna—Mads—find her way back to me?
Isaak watches me with those calculating eyes, bouncing baby Lily on his knee. The giant of a man handles his daughter with surprising gentleness, supporting her head with one massive palm while she gums at her fist. Three months old and already ruling her father’s world with an iron fist covered in drool.
“The new security protocols are holding up well,” Isaak says, his way of making conversation while assessing my mental state. “No breach attempts this week.”
“Good.” I force myself to sit and appear normal. Christ, when did normal become such a performance? I mean, there was a time when it always was. But then Anna returned after a decade away and brought me back to life. I don’t know how to go back to being the zombie I was before.
Kira glides over with a glass of water I didn’t ask for but probably need. She’s got that maternal energy now, taking care of everyone whether they want it or not. “You look tired, Domhnall.”
“I’m fine.”
“When’s the last time you ate?” she presses. “A real meal, not just coffee and whatever’s in reach.”
I wave her off. Food tastes like ash anyway. Everything does without?—
“She’s coming back,” Moira says, softer this time. “She loves you.”
“You don’t know that,” I bite, my worst fears flying out of my mouth.
