Chapter 2
The Moment I Break
DOM
Iwatch her the second she steps into the briefing room, and it feels like someone hooks a wire behind my ribs and yanks.
Enya.
She’s trying to look composed—chin up, shoulders back—but her hands give her away. They tremble as she clutches her purse to her chest like it’s the only solid thing in the room.
I’ve seen cartel lieutenants sweat less.
And I hate that. I hate that she’s here, afraid, answering questions because of me—because of what I did. Because of what I am.
“Delacour,” Kiera murmurs beside me, “you’re doing that thing.”
I don’t look at her. “What thing?”
“Brooding. Looming. Acting like a wild animal someone forgot to sedate.” She shifts her weight, crossing her arms. “Relax.”
I probably should. I don’t.
My reflection ghosts faintly on the one-way glass.
Same face as always—sharp jaw, rough stubble.
I didn’t bother shaving this morning, hair a touch too long from skipping my last cut.
My eyes—cold, flat blue, the kind people never forget once I’ve interrogated them.
I’m built for this work, inside and out.
Usually.
Today, though, something in me is off-kilter.
“Quit staring at yourself,” Kiera says under her breath.
I smirk. She knows me too well. Years of on-again, off-again will do that, even if the only thing we’ve been for the last six months is partners on this task force. And even that’s a stretch.
She hasn’t touched me once since I met Enya. I haven’t touched her either.
Kiera doesn’t ask about it. Doesn’t need to.
Because she sees what’s happening to me now.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I say.
She nods like she expected that.
My gaze returns to Enya. She shifts in her chair, adjusting her soft green sweater—the one that makes her brown eyes look even warmer. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, nervous.
And I feel something in my chest twist.
This isn’t me. I don’t get emotional during operations. I don’t fucking feel things. Not anymore.
Not since Paris.
My shoulder throbs—an old phantom ache from the bullet I took a year ago behind a café near the Seine. I bled out on cobblestones while my target vanished. When I woke up in the hospital three days later, the doctors called me lucky.
I didn’t feel lucky.
I felt tired.
And lately…that tiredness has started to feel like a warning.
Maybe I’m done with this life. Maybe I should’ve been done a year ago.
The door opens in the observation room. Agent Ruiz steps in with a file. “Delacour. Hale. We’re starting.”
Kiera steps forward, all business.
I stay rooted to the spot.
Through the glass, Enya lifts her eyes—and for a split second, she looks right at me.
She can’t see me. I know that. The mirror is one-way.
But I still feel seen.
My grip tightens on the edge of the counter.
Ruiz clears his throat. “Dom? You coming?”
I drag my eyes away from her. “Yeah.” My voice sounds rough.
Kiera studies me—really studies me. “You sure you can do this?”
No.
“Yes,” I lie.
Because breaking now won’t help her.
Hurting her was never part of the plan.
But watching her get hurt because of me…that might be the thing that finally ends me.