Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
EMMA
The weeks that followed were some of the best of my life, which was an unexpected, almost impossible reprieve after months spent drowning in grief so heavy it had felt like I’d never breathe right again.
Suddenly, there was light again, laughter again, days that didn’t start with pain.
Caden and I slept together almost every night, drawn to each other like gravity had finally found something to anchor itself to.
The early mornings stretched lazily into hours, filled with laughter and quiet conversation, with soft touches and tangled limbs, with the kind of peace that made the rest of the world feel very far away.
Sometimes we talked about everything—our fears, our pasts, the things we’d lost—and other times, we said nothing at all, because the silence between us was its own kind of language.
During the day, we pretended. We trained, went on missions to find out more about the bubble and the Collabs, and moved through the Collective as if nothing had changed, as if the nights hadn’t bound us together in a way neither of us dared name.
We were always careful, stealing glances that didn’t last too long, brushing past each other in hallways when no one was watching, hoping our hearts didn’t give us away.
And then, when the sun went down and the world quieted, we’d read together in one of the libraries, pretending to focus on the pages while the air between us grew heavier with every passing minute, until one of us caved and reached for the other.
It never took long. And before the night was over, we’d end up back in one of our rooms, breathless and undone, losing ourselves again in a beautiful, fragile illusion nothing outside those walls could touch us.
Every night, except for one night a week.
Thursday night.
Cocktail night.
Me, my own room, a Nexus, and a room across the Atlantic full of people whom I loved and missed more than I could ever put into words.
“So how are things at Crown?”
Rocco smiled through the Nexus from the couch in Caden’s study, his legs casually stretched out like he was celebrating his boss’s absence. “Things are good. Saoirse is doing an excellent job as First Offensive. Honestly, I think Caden will have a hard time reclaiming his job.”
I grinned. “I’m sure he will. How’s his Scotch, by the way?”
Rocco’s gaze flicked down to the glass in his hand—Caden’s crystal tumbler, no less—then back up to me, his expression shifting toward mild panic. “Please don’t rat me out.”
Oh, this could be fun.
I leaned back slightly, lips curling into a slow smile. “Hmm. What are you willing to do for me to keep your secret?”
Rocco’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
My smile widened. “Wouldn’t I?”
Before he could retaliate, a knock at my door cut through the conversation.
Without waiting for an invitation, Sean appeared. His blond hair was slightly tousled, a mischievous glint in his expression that meant trouble. “I heard there were cocktails,” he said, flashing a grin.
I smiled, nodded, and motioned for him to sit next to me on the bed. I translated him my favorite Moscow mule with a twist—a skill I’d perfected almost to an art form—and handed it to him.
Sean’s brows lifted as he took the glass. “Now we’re talkin’,” he murmured, taking a sip.
“Hi, mate,” Sean said, raising his glass toward the projected Rocco. “How’re ye doin’?”
Rocco downed his Scotch before answering. “Great, to be honest. Glad this fucker’s back.” He grabbed Emile by the shoulders, his smile wide.
Emile smiled faintly, the joy not yet completely returned to his expression, but it was better than the hollow look he’d worn last time we’d nexed.
“Barely been back a month, and he’s already annoying as hell,” Rocco teased.
Emile’s smile widened slightly. “And yet you missed me.”
Rocco made a face. “I deny everything.”
“Of course you do,” Emile murmured, his voice soft.
Sean leaned closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine. “Dibs on telling Caden they’ve crashed his study,” he whispered.
“I get to tell him they raided his Scotch,” I whispered back.
Rocco’s gaze sharpened. “Oi, we can hear you.”
I smiled innocently. “Good.”
And then my thoughts drifted to Caden. Less than an hour apart, and I already missed him.
Jesus. I was turning into a pathetic, clingy girlfriend cliché.
But still, the setup felt off without him in it. This was his crowd, his world. Plus, where the hell was he?
Maybe he was on a mission with Rachel.
Doing something important.
A flash of jealousy seared through me, fast and irrational.
Another knock on my door jolted me out of my slightly spiraling thoughts.
Jackson entered, scanning the room with that casual ease he always carried. “I heard there were cocktails?”
I snorted, already translating him another before he even sat down next to his husband. Jackson accepted the glass with a small smirk, nudging Sean with his knee as he leaned back comfortably.
Sean took another sip of his drink. “So, Saoirse’s still leading Caerleon Manor?”
Rocco nodded. “Yeah. And she’s doin’ a damn good job of it too.” His smile faded slightly. “Though she’s been a bit weird this week.”
I frowned. “Weird how?”
He shrugged. “As if somethin’s botherin’ her. Lashin’ out at me, complainin’ a bit more than usual.”
“It’s probably shark week,” I said with a shrug.
Emile frowned, confusion creasing his brow. “I don’t understand.”
I arched a brow, my lips curling into a sly smile.
“What?” he pressed.
“Shark week. As in, the waters have…colored red,” I hinted, my gaze expectant.
He blinked. “What waters?”
“Oh my gods,” Sean groaned beside me. “Dude, it’s her week.”
“To go swimming?”
“NO!” we all shouted in unison.
“The color of the water,” I said slowly, like I was explaining it to a toddler, “is red.”
“What water?” Emile repeated, clearly still not getting it.
I sighed. “Of the fucking toilet.”
Emile’s brows furrowed harder. He looked so lost I was starting to pity him.
“This is not happening,” Jackson muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. “This is probably the most cringe conversation I’ve ever had.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Rocco leaned toward Emile, whispering something in his ear.
Emile’s eyes widened. The light of realization dawned across his face as his cheeks flushed almost as red as the water I was referring to.
“Oooooh,” he breathed. “You mean she’s…menstruating?” His voice pitched upward at the end, like he couldn’t quite believe he was saying it out loud. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
My expression didn’t even flicker. “I really, really did.”
Rocco laughed at his best friend, then immediately cut it off when his girlfriend arrived, the only person in this room more dangerous than Caden Colt on a bad day.
My soul-twin.
“Baby!” I yelled out, slightly encouraged by the alcohol. “You’re just in time for cocktail hour!”
She plopped down on the couch and translated herself a beer with a flick of her wrist. “I’m fine drinking the soft stuff.”
I smiled at my best friend. “How are you, my love?”
She took a sip from her beer, then shifted slightly—subtle, but noticeable—leaning just a little away from Rocco.
“I’m fine,” she said, flashing a half-smile. “Been working on that lovely assignment you dumped on me.”
I sat up straighter. “Tell me you found something on that first warrant.”
Saoirse sighed and set her bottle down on the coffee table in front of her. “I figured out how to access the US system. Not easy. Took me some time, but I finally managed to pull every warrant issued in the last year.”
My stomach dipped. “And?”
Her expression tightened. “The only one I found, was the presidential one. The one Rachel already gave you.”
My brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” she said, glancing briefly at Rocco before looking back at me, “whatever warrant they had when they showed up at your parents’ house, it doesn’t exist anymore. Not in any database I could access.”
My mouth went dry. “You’re saying it was deleted?”
“Scrubbed,” she corrected. “No record. No digital footprint. Like it never existed.”
“Maybe it didn’t?” Rocco suggested gently.
Silence pressed in around us, thick and heavy.
“I saw it,” I whispered finally. “I swear I saw it. They showed up at the door and showed my parents the warrant.”
“I believe you,” Saoirse said softly. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying whatever warrant they were holding, it wasn’t issued by the US”
I exhaled slowly, the weight of it settling deep in my chest. “Which means,” I said, my voice quieter now, “everything I thought was true…is. Someone else is after me and is pretending to be the government.”
The room faded around me as my thoughts spun out.
Somewhere in the background, I heard the nex start to fracture, soft goodbyes murmured one by one, voices dropping out gently. A flicker of awareness told me they were disconnecting, slipping away from the shared space without pressing.
I barely noticed. Plus, I must’ve gone pale, because Sean leaned into view and wordlessly pressed a bottle of water into my hands.
“Hydrate, lightweight,” he chided, tone light but laced with worry. “You look like someone just told you sparring practice got moved to sunrise.”
I didn’t argue, twisted the cap open with stiff fingers and took a sip, trying to drown the fire rising in my chest.
Jackson groaned from the floor, flopping dramatically onto his back. “That is not something to joke about. Rachel asked me to monitor the situation at Sisu every day at dawn for the next two weeks. I swear the universe has a personal vendetta against me.”
I frowned. “What’s at Sisu?”
Jackson shrugged. “Nothing, as far as I can tell. But Rachel has this whole theory the Human World in Greenland is a breeding spot for Collabs. But so far, I have yet to see any evidence of that. Thus, I really don’t see why I should keep setting the alarm for 4 a.m.”
Sean didn’t even look at him. “The universe probably told her you slept till noon three days in a row and asked her to intervene.”