Chapter 36
Liv
My muscles are still tight from my shift. It wasn’t even a bad one, not by our standards. Routine calls with nothing about them that stuck. There was just a lot, barely enough time to grab another cup of shitty coffee at the station before our radio went off again.
I was relieved when I saw Manny in the typical car outside the station, something that’s become a talking point around the station over the past few days. They don’t know why it’s happening, but they all assume it has something to do with Alex and the case.
Alice says I should just be glad for the break from walking to and from work for a while. She thinks I should enjoy it while I’ve got it now that the air is starting to have more of a winter chill in it.
Really, I’d rather have the cold walks. Because at least I’d be back in my home.
The manor feels strangely quiet when I get back from my shift.
I don’t see Wilfred as I come in and make my way to my room and when I walk in, Alex is sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the doorway like he’s been waiting for me to walk in.
But he’s too still and too quiet. Not the normal kind of quiet this place has, that polished, curated silence that comes when there’s too much open space not filled with life.
This is different. He looks like something terrible has happened.
I close the door behind me, dropping my bag on the dresser, and take a deep breath. Is he gonna tell me they found another dead body? Or another live victim with a gut-wrenching testimony?
Now it feels like the whole day of constant moving was just preparing me for this, when the world suddenly feels so slow in his gaze that it makes my skin itch.
“Alex?” My voice carries farther than I expect.
He doesn’t answer.
I take a step away from the dresser, not yet in his vicinity. The room feels like a pressure keg that talking will set off. But I think that pressure keg is just whatever it is that he’s fighting himself to say.
He’s sitting there, watching me. He hasn’t moved, or more uncomfortably, said anything.
My heart rate speeds up. “Hey,” I say slowly. “You okay?”
He’s quiet for an uncomfortably long moment. “We need to talk.”
Yeah, I gathered. Whatever’s on his mind is screaming loudly, but in a language I don’t understand.
On top of the concern, he used the phrase, the key phrase to signify that something bad is coming. Because “we need to talk” never means anything good.
I huff out a small breath, rubbing the back of my neck as I walk the rest of the way toward him. “That sounds ominous,” I breathe out, trying for light.
It doesn’t work, of course not. He doesn’t smile or soften, just stays there all tense and coiled, like something’s holding him in place.
Okay, not light then. “Alright,” I say, stopping a few feet in front of him. “What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, eyes flicking over me like he’s checking for something. “Did something happen today?” he asks.
I blink. “What?”
“At work,” he clarifies. “Anything unusual.”
I feel myself frowning slightly. “No, why?”
Another too long and too deliberate silence. Something pricks at the back of my mind. He’s trying to change the subject. “Alex,” I ease out, slower now, “what’s going on?”
He exhales like he’s letting go of something big then runs a hand through his hair. “I need you to follow some protocols.”
I stare at him. “…What?” Why is he saying this? Of course I follow protocols.
“Safety protocols,” he continues. “Effective immediately.”
There are a few seconds where my brain just doesn’t process that. I follow the safety protocols I’m expected to. Of course I do. So why doesn’t he think I do? Has he heard something?
“No.” The word comes out flat and automatic.
His brow furrows. “Liv-”
“No,” I repeat, sharper this time. “You don’t get to drop that on me without explaining why.”
“I am explaining-”
“No, you’re not,” I butt in. “You’re giving orders.”
His jaw squares. “I’m not giving orders.”
“Then what would you call it?” I shoot back.
“A request based on real risk,” he says, his voice lower now.
How controlled his voice is just makes it worse.
“Then treat me like I’m part of the situation,” I snap. “Not something you need to manage.”
The room becomes silent, heavy, and charged. Because there it is, he’s been acting like I’m something to monitor.
I cross my arms, holding his gaze. “You’ve been doing this since I got here,” I continue.
“Watching everything, deciding things, not telling me half of what’s going on.
I left my home, came out here, somewhere that I’m massively out of my comfort zone in because you told me to and then won’t tell me anything more. ”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” I push. “You keep saying ‘it’s the case’ like that’s supposed to explain everything, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.”
His expression hardens slightly. “You are part of the case.”
His words hit so wrong, so cold and clinical, that it makes me flinch before I can stop myself. “Wow,” I say quietly. “That’s… good to know.”
“That’s not what I meant-”
“No?” I break in. “Because that’s exactly how it sounded.
” I turn away, pacing once before turning back to him.
“You don’t get to reduce me to a variable because it makes your job easier.
” Not after what we’ve been through together, what we’ve done together.
I don’t want to be the sappy kind of woman falling for a guy and thinking we’ll be more just because we slept together.
“It doesn’t make anything easier,” he snaps, frustration breaking through finally. Or maybe he just read my mind. “It makes it harder. Everything about this makes it harder.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re shutting me out?” I demand. Because that’s what it feels like, like there’s a wall between us now, and I don’t know when it got there. Or why.
“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says.
“There it is,” I fire back. “That line.”
“It’s not a line.”
“It is when you use it instead of actually talking to me,” I say. “You keep saying it like it’s supposed to shut the conversation down.”
“Because it should matter,” he shoots back. “Because you are in danger, whether you admit it or not.”
“I do admit it. I’ve been admitting it since the apartment fire, since you snuck into that fucking warehouse, since every call that’s been getting worse and worse.” I step closer. “But I’m still here,” I add. “I’m still doing my job. I’m still making my own decisions.”
“And that’s exactly what scares me,” he says, regret immediately flashing across his face. The words slipped out before he could stop them.
I go still. “…What? Me making my own decisions scares you?” I ask, my blood running cold.
“No!” he bursts out. “That’s not-”
“Then what did you mean?” I press.
But he goes silent instead. Whatever it is, it’s too messy to let out easily.
My chest shudders with the force it takes to take in a breath.
Finally, he speaks, saying exactly what I thought he would. “It means I can’t control what happens to you.”
The words hang between us: control.
I let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” I say. “You can’t.”
“And that’s a problem,” he insists.
“No,” I counter. “It’s reality.”
We stare at each other, neither of us backing down.
“I’ve seen what happens when things go wrong,” he informs me, his voice lower now and edged with something dark. “I’ve seen how fast it can turn. How quickly people-”
“People like me?” I interrupt.
His jaw locks. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you said,” I push. “You keep putting me in this category of something fragile. Something that needs to be handled.”
“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he disputes.
“Then stop treating me like I am.”
“I need you to trust me,” he says finally.
I laugh once, soft and disbelieving. “You need me to trust you?” I repeat. “While you’re actively keeping things from me?”
His expression flickers, just for a second. But that hesitation is confirmation to me, causing my chest to tighten.
“You are hiding something,” I say.
He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.
“Alex.” My voice drops, sounding quieter but more dangerous. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Finally, finally, he doesn’t deflect right away. Instead, he looks at me, really looks at me, like he’s weighing something. Like he’s deciding whether or not to let me in.
For a second, I think he’s going to. But then… “Right now? I’m telling you we need to tighten security.”
Just like that, the door slams shut again.
I step back because that hurt more than anything else he’s said.
“Okay,” I say, flat and final. “Then here’s my compromise.”
His brow furrows slightly.
“I’ll follow your protocols,” I continue. “Driver to work, check-ins, whatever you need to feel like you’re doing your job. But you don’t get to shut me out. You don’t get to make decisions for me without at least telling me why. Or else I leave the manor.”
His eyes widen exponentially. I think I can hear his heart rate pick up tenfold. “Okay,” he says, the reluctance gone from his voice.
I nod once. “Okay.” I didn’t want to go there, but I knew it would work.
“I ran a DNA test on you.”