Chapter 20 #2
I lift one hand, asking for a second, and move toward the edge of the bay before he can tell me no. I don’t go far enough to vanish from sight, only close enough for the words to separate from the noise of tools and wind.
Varina is angry, which alone, isn’t new. Her anger has always been one of the more reliable forces in the world, like gravity or Canon’s disappointment. But this is different. This isn’t the clean, weaponized irritation she wears in rooms full of men. This is frayed.
“You’re moving too fast,” she growls out.
Canon’s reply is lower, but I know that voice better than I wish I did. “We’re moving while there’s an opening.”
“There isn’t an opening! There’s a reaction window, and Saint already knows the Reapers are pushing. If you hit the eastern corridor now, he’ll assume it’s connected.”
“He’ll assume what I tell him to assume when there are bodies and broken routes in front of him.”
Varina says something I can’t catch, then louder, “This was supposed to be pressure, not a strike.”
Canon’s voice hardens. “This was supposed to be you in his bed and our hands inside his operation. That didn’t happen because Saint decided my son was worth more than I thought. Fine. We adjust.”
Varina snaps, “You don’t get to say that like you didn’t throw him away first.”
Silence follows and then Canon breaks it. “You’re getting sentimental.”
“I’m getting realistic. Oisín isn’t going to help us.”
“He doesn’t need to help. He needs to distract.
Saint watches him now, doesn’t he? Sol watches Saint watching him.
Obsidian is moving routes around three different pressure points at once.
The eastern corridor is restructured and vulnerable, and if we hit within the next few days, they won’t know whether they’re chasing Reaper ghosts, buyer leaks, or us. ”
This isn’t some eventual betrayal I can pretend might still be negotiated away by silence or family or luck. Canon is moving in days, not weeks, and the window he sees is the exact one Moth has been trying to conceal under a dozen careful adjustments.
Varina’s voice lowers. “If this goes wrong, Saint will come for us.”
Canon laughs softly, and I hate how familiar it sounds. “Then we make sure it doesn’t go wrong.”
Bricks’ hand closes around my upper arm. “We’re leaving.”
Fenn is looking at us when we step back into the yard, suspicion already pulling at his face. Bricks smiles at him, though the expression has nothing friendly in it.
“Paperwork’s done?”
Fenn glances between us. “Yeah.”
“Great.” Bricks takes the folder from me before anyone can object, tucks it under one arm, and points toward the car. “Demo, stop looking like you heard a ghost confess and get in.”
Demo’s face goes pale enough to confirm every suspicion Fenn might have had, but he moves anyway. I keep my own face neutral, trying to hide what I heard but my heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my ears.
The car is barely out of the yard before Bricks speaks. “Whatever you heard, keep it for Saint. He needs to hear it straight from you.”
The drive back feels too long, the truth of what I heard burning in my chest. Even Demo is quiet, his nervous energy rubbing on me. Ten minutes out from the clubhouse, Bricks pulls out his phone at a red light, dials with one hand, and puts it on speaker.
Saint answers on the second ring. “Done?”
Bricks looks at me. “You need to hear this from him.”
My mouth goes dry as I explain everything. “Canon and Varina are going to move on the eastern corridor. Canon thinks the restructure makes it vulnerable, and he’s using the Reapers’ pressure as cover. He said the timeline is days.”
Silence.
Then Saint’s voice comes through, colder than I’ve heard from him in a while. “Where are you?”
“Ten minutes out,” Bricks says.
“Bring him straight to me. Don’t stop in the main room.”
The call ends.
Demo finally speaks from the back seat, quieter than I’ve ever heard him. “That was really bad, right?”
Bricks exhales. “Yeah, kid. That was really bad.”
***
Saint’s eyes go to me first the moment I step into the office. He moves around the desk and pulls me into his chest, holding me there for several seconds of silence. My hands rise to his waist, gently curling into his cut before he releases me.
Moth breaks the silence and the confusion that came with the embrace.
“The eastern corridor is vulnerable for exactly the reason Canon identified. We’ve been holding visible routes steady while shifting internal response windows.
If they hit the support path while Reaper pressure remains active, initial attribution would be muddy.
” His contribution to the conversation tells me he had been on the other side of the phone while Saint had called earlier.
“Can we harden it without showing we know?” Saint asks.
“Yes,” Moth says. “If we make it look like a Reaper containment adjustment rather than a Rogue countermeasure.”
Bricks nods once. “Use their cover against them.”
Saint turns to me. “Where would Canon hit?”
I step toward the board. “Not the main lane. Canon wants Obsidian looking at the obvious pressure point. He’ll hit where the corridor narrows operationally, not geographically.
” I tap a junction marked in blue. “Here. This looks like a secondary support pass, but if the timing windows stay as written, it carries the response team overlap for both the false Maverick adjustment and the actual product movement. He won’t know everything, but he’ll know enough from old escort patterns to guess this is where confusion hurts most.”
Moth’s eyes sharpen. “He would need timing.”
“He has old Rogue schedules and enough arrogance to think Obsidian hasn’t improved them.”
Bricks mutters, “That tracks.”
Saint studies the board, then looks at Moth.
“Move response overlap off the junction. Quietly. Put a visible adjustment near the main lane to make it look like we’re reacting to Maverick pressure.
Bricks, pull two crews we trust and stage them cold.
Demo, find Pike and tell him I want north gate cameras reviewed for any Rogue scouts in the last seventy-two hours. ”
Demo straightens. “Yes, VP.”
He starts for the door, then stops when Saint speaks again.
“Demo.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t talk to anyone else on the way.”
Demo nods, visibly sealing his mouth with effort, and leaves.
Bricks follows a second later after giving me a look I can’t quite read. Moth remains long enough to photograph the adjusted board and issue three clipped calls, then he leaves too, already speaking in that flat, precise tone that makes people move faster without knowing why.
Saint turns his attention fully on me, folding his arms across his chest. “You didn’t sit on that information. Why?”
Because I chose you, I think, but the words are too exposed, and Saint is still learning how not to flinch at gentler weapons. I look down at my ring instead, twisting it once around my finger. “Because it was bad,” I say. “And because waiting would have made it worse.”
Saint’s hand lifts to the side of my head, fingers sliding carefully into my hair. “You saved us time,” he says. His eyes are dark, stripped of the careless possession he uses when he wants the world to understand a claim. “Maybe more than time.”
I step closer before I can talk myself out of it, and Saint meets me halfway. The kiss starts softly, almost uncertain by his standards. His hand stays at the side of my head, fingers threaded into my hair, while the other settles at my waist with careful pressure.
His mouth opens mine with a slow heat that makes my knees weaken, but his hands stay careful, reverent in a way he would probably deny if I named it. I lift my hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath my palm. For once, he doesn’t cover the contact with motion.
When we separate, his forehead rests briefly against mine. “My sweet, sweet, Sín.”
I thought this moment might have felt a lot more like betrayal.
It feels like coming home.