Chapter Thirty-Three
Raine
I wake to a gentle, looping melody—something Asher chose last night, saying it was supposed to promote restful sleep.
Early sun washes in around the edges of the blinds, pale gold against the beige walls. Next to me, Asher lies on his back, one hand resting palm up near the edge of the pillow, his fingers loose and open.
He looks so different.
Not younger or softer, but freer, his expression unguarded in a way that pulls the hint of a smile from my lips.
The tension in his shoulder has eased slightly. His chest rises and falls in a slow, even rhythm.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him truly relaxed. And yet, if I said his name, I know without a doubt, he’d be awake in an instant.
My heart stutters in understanding, hard enough that I brace on instinct. But what follows isn’t panic or pain. It’s…warm, confusing, and nothing I have the words for. Yet.
I stretch my right arm carefully, lifting it just enough to engage the muscles in my back and shoulder. A deep, insistent ache flares, but it’s manageable. I’m nowhere near healed—I might never be. But enough to be functional.
Sleep helped. Even if I did wake more than once. The first time, all I could feel was the hood pulled tight around my neck. I couldn’t breathe until I heard Asher’s quiet whisper. “You’re not back there.”
Later, my entire body jolted, the memory of too many hands in too many places locking my muscles and sending a wave of icy panic to drown me.
But he grounded me again. This time, it was his clean, slightly woodsy scent and the way he rolled over and murmured, “You’re safe.”
I held onto those words until the gentle pressure of my heels against the mattress settled my racing heart.
I’m still exhausted. But at least my thoughts are settling.
Pressing my hand to my stomach, I find another sensation.
Hunger.
This isn’t a simple desire for calories. For fuel. I want…food. For the first time since they took me, my body wants more than survival. It wants to live.
I ease out of bed, careful not to jostle Asher. He wasn’t on the edge of collapse when he carried me out of that place, but he’s been surviving on scraps of broken sleep since. He needs every minute.
The room doesn’t spin—much—when I stand. Progress. If I brush my teeth, I might feel almost human.
I don’t avoid the bathroom mirror, but I give it a wide berth. A quick glance is all I can manage. Long enough to clock the yellow ringing the deep purple bruises, the fading bags under my eyes, and the hint of color in my cheeks.
One day, the woman looking back at me won’t be so much of a stranger. But not today.
I brush for longer than I need. Long enough I can hear Asher moving around in the main room.
The grinder is running, and the rich scent of coffee winds its way down the hall.
Asher stands at the counter, shoulders loose, hair still mussed from sleep. He glances over his shoulder at me, and his lips curve into a smile. “Morning.”
His voice is still rough. A subtle warmth threads through me, and I press my fingertips against the edge of the countertop.
Every one of his movements is precise. The grind. Leveling the scoop. Adding just enough water that the scent blooms, sweet and rich and chocolaty. A single stir, timed just right before he fills the press completely.
“I might be able to handle half a cup,” I say. “If you have enough.”
His eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’ll have to go to the store this afternoon. But we have enough until then. Breakfast?”
“Yes. Can I…help?”
Asher shakes his head. “You’re still guarding that shoulder like it owes you an apology. You said you used to enjoy your morning coffee by the window. It’s sunny today.” He pours exactly half a cup, and as I take it, our fingers brush. It’s…nice.
I lower myself carefully onto the couch, cradling the mug in my hands.
It’s warm, and the scent is so comforting, reminding me of the life I almost lost. Sunlight touches the floor in wide, gentle bands, and the pull toward it is immediate.
I miss fresh air. I miss the sky. But until I know how hard they’re looking for me—who’s looking for me, and what they’re planning—outside is nothing but a dream.
Asher hums softly while he cooks. I’m almost done with the coffee when he brings two plates to the table. “I know you’re probably sick of eggs, but at least these aren’t scrambled? And there’s still oatmeal.”
The omelet is simple—spinach and cheese, cut into wedges. Two bowls of oatmeal drizzled with honey.
My stomach warns me to stop a little over halfway through, but Asher finishes what I leave behind.
He leans back in his chair, watching me with that quiet attention I’m starting to understand. Maybe even crave. It’s never demanding. More like he sees me for who I am, and doesn’t look away.
“If none of this had happened,” he asks, “what would you be doing right now?”
The question catches me off guard. Not painfully. More like a shift in terrain I didn’t see coming.
I glance toward the window, where sunlight spills across the floor. “It’s…Saturday?”
The second the word leaves me, I feel the slip—just a small one. My mind searches for a map, a way to resolve the past however-long into periods of time that resemble days, but fails. There were no edges. No breaks. Just…survival and pain.
“Yes,” Asher says. His voice gives me the anchor I need. “It’s Saturday.”
I trace a small chip at the table’s edge. My skin isn’t quite as dry today, but my index finger still catches roughly. My body cools by degrees until I dig my nails into my palms.
“Well, coffee always came first,” I manage.
One corner of his mouth tips up. “And after the coffee?”
I let the memory surface, bringing a tiny slice of peace with it. “Orchids. I used to take care of them on Saturday mornings. Everyone thinks they’re complicated, but they’re not. They just…have rules. Clear ones. If you follow them, they thrive.”
He studies me, but he’s not scanning for weakness. He’s looking for understanding. “You like things that tell you exactly what they need.”
“They make sense to me. More than most people do.”
For a moment, neither of us speak. The pull to keep the conversation going is strong. Deep. Real in a way I’ve longed for so many times, but never found. Until now.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “The talking. Seeing. And being seen.”
“You’re doing just fine.” Asher leans forward, elbows on the table, hands relaxed where I can see them. “There’s no pressure here, Raine. Not from me.”
My gaze trails up his arms, noting the slight tension in them. The way his left shoulder is better, but still a fraction higher than the right. The stubble along his jaw, and how it takes on a reddish tint in the light. The deep blue of his eyes.
“What about you?” I ask. “Who were you before you were Asher the Fixer. Asher, the man with too many suits and even more burner phones?”
He’s quiet long enough I start to think I asked for too much. But then he shifts, his fingers flexing once before they still.
“I grew up with a father who believed two things,” he says. “That the world is dangerous. And that you don’t wait for someone else to protect the people you care about.”
The words come softer now. “He lived that with his whole heart. Stepped between people and danger without thinking twice. But when he was the one in danger, I was too late.”
He drops his gaze to his hands, a crack in his armor so small, most people would probably miss it.
I feel the ache of it—along with the trust he’s giving me by letting it show.
“After that, fixing made sense. It wasn’t about being the person who saves the day. It was making sure no one ended up alone when it mattered.”
“That sounds…right.”
“Not always right,” he admits. “Necessary. But now…I’m not sure necessity is the reason I’m doing this.”
My pulse stutters. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not a job, Raine.” His shoulders ease. A quiet motion to accompany the steadiness in his eyes. “I may have gone in for someone else, but I stayed for you.”
Asher
The second I say the words aloud, I regret them. Not because they aren’t true. Because they’re the kind of truth I’ve never given anyone before.
From the way Raine’s fingers trace the edge of the table, I worry they’re the kind of truth she wasn’t ready to hear.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw that at you. Not like that. Not all at once.”
“I just…need a second,” she says, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “To line it up in my head.” Her voice drops to a whisper, but she meets my gaze for a brief moment. “Being chosen isn’t something I have a pattern for. People usually decide I’m too much before it gets that far.”
“You’re not too much. You’re…you.” If I didn’t think she’d kick my ass for fighting battles that belong to her, I’d hunt down anyone who ever called her “too much.”
She shifts in the chair, her focus moving to the window, to the spill of sunlight across the floorboards. A single sigh, one full of longing, heaves her shoulders.
“A part of me wishes I could go back,” she says. “To my apartment. My orchids. My life. Even to GSD. Systems made sense to me. I wasn’t happy…exactly. The field was more…home. But I could be myself inside that structure.”
A faint tremor runs through her fingers. “They took that from me. They took…me. Everything I knew and trusted and understood about myself was stripped away.”
“No.” It takes effort not to raise my voice or ball my hands into fists. More than I want to admit. But I keep myself under control because she needs me steady. “They tried. They failed. You’re still here, Raine. Still you.”
Her gaze steadies, and it hits me deeper than I’m prepared for. Deeper still when her voice shakes.
“They broke a part of me I thought was unbreakable. And when it happened…I promised myself if I got out—if I survived—I’d stop them.”
The promise fills the room. Solid. Forged in fire and pain and grit.
I lean closer, flipping one of my hands palm up. An offering. If she wants it. “Then that’s what you’ll do. And I’m with you. Next to you. Behind you. In front of you if necessary.”
Her breath catches once, and she stares at my upturned palm for several seconds before she rests her fingers over mine. That one action, that trust, almost knocks me right off the chair.
“I need to go back into the logs. Find the pattern in all those codes. It’s the only way I’ll understand the shape of it.
Of what they did to me. And why. Once I have that, I’ll know what else I need to stop them.
This…is going to get dangerous, Asher. Because some of what I need… will be inside GSD.”
She’s giving me an out. Permission to walk away. But there’s no fucking way I’m leaving her to do this alone. She could. I’m certain of that. I’m equally certain she won’t have to..
“I’ve been in dangerous situations before. Once, in the middle of a job in Spain, I tried to flambé on a camp stove and burned off half an eyebrow.”
She chokes on her laugh, gold flecks shining in her brown eyes for a moment before she sobers. “I mean it, Asher. If this is as big as I think it is, you might never be safe again. If you stay.”
“There’s no version of this that includes safety for me, but not you. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. So put me to work. Tell me what you need me to do.”
She studies me, her stare reaching deep into my soul as her fingers tighten around mine. “I have to start this alone. If I don’t, it becomes too…real. Once I know the pattern, I can bring you in without losing myself in the process. Is that…okay?”
“Very. But I’m not just a pretty face. I have contacts. People who owe me favors. Skills beyond knowing twenty different ways to prepare eggs. I’m here when you need me.”
Taking a risk, I squeeze her hand. Once. Briefly. Then hold my breath.
Her eyes soften, the gold flecks even brighter now. “If I could go back, there’s one thing I wouldn’t change.” After a beat, she pulls her hand away. “You.”