Chapter 8
Say My Name
Mira
Aweek. That’s how long I let it go on.
A week of crossing paths that weren’t accidents. Of disruptions that matched too cleanly to be a coincidence. Of feeling him in the room without ever fully seeing him long enough to call it what it was out loud.
I tested the system, and he pushed back. He shifted routes, I adjusted mine. We circled each other like neither of us was willing to be the first one to break.
I was done waiting.
If it was him, if every instinct in my body wasn’t lying to me, then dragging this out didn’t protect anything. It just gave him more time to stay in control of a situation he already put me in once before.
Not again.
I tracked his movement the same way I tracked everything else in Ironhand — through patterns, through absence, through the way the system adjusted around him instead of because of him.
He favored tighter routes when he wanted proximity, avoided the main floor when things got too visible, and used the supply corridors like they were extensions of his own shadow. It was controlled, deliberate, and predictable in a way that only someone like him could pull off without being seen.
So, I set the stage.
The supply route on the west side ran through a narrow cut that opened into a restricted-access hallway, one most lower-level staff avoided unless they had clearance.
It stayed quiet compared to the rest of Ironhand — just enough traffic to keep it from looking suspicious, not enough to hide in if someone wanted to force a conversation.
Perfect.
I misrouted a small supply request through that corridor — nothing that would raise flags, just enough to pull him into the space if he was watching the same points that I was.
Then I made sure I had a reason to be there myself.
I grabbed a crate and moved as if it were just another task on my list.
By the time I stepped into the hallway, I already knew he’d take the bait.
I didn’t know which direction he would come from.
The space was tighter than the main corridors.
The concrete walls closed in just enough to muffle the noise from the ring.
A single overhead light flickered at the far end, casting shadows that shifted every time someone moved through it.
No cameras that I’d seen, no constant traffic, just the occasional runner cutting through when they needed to move something fast.
Close enough to be private. Not isolated enough to be stupid.
I set the crate down against the wall like I was checking inventory, back half-turned to the corridor, head angled just enough to catch movement without making it obvious I was waiting for it.
Seconds stretched.
Footsteps hit the concrete behind me, steady, controlled, not rushing, not hesitant.
My pulse didn’t spike … it settled. Because I knew that rhythm.
I didn’t turn right away. I let him close the distance … let the space tighten around us until there was no clean way out without acknowledging what this was.
I straightened slowly and rolled my shoulders like I was working out a kink, then turned just enough to face him.
Not fully. Not yet. But close enough that if he tried to pass me like this was just another coincidence, he’d have to make a choice.
My gaze lifted and locked onto him … without hesitation, without uncertainty, without giving him the chance to pretend this wasn’t exactly what it looked like.
A week of circling…of waiting.
Over.
“You’re getting sloppy,” I said, voice low and even, like this was nothing more than a professional observation. “Or you want me to notice.”
I let that sit for a beat. I watched him, reading every micro-shift the way I’d trained myself to do. “Which is it?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Of course, he didn’t. That would’ve been too easy, too clean, too honest for a situation that had never been any of those things between us. Instead, he just stood there, close enough that I could feel the weight of his presence settle into the space, steady and controlled like it always had been.
Like nothing had changed.
Like everything hadn’t.
I shifted my stance slightly, angling myself so he couldn’t just brush past me without making it obvious. It wasn’t aggressive, not enough to draw attention if someone happened to glance down the hallway, but it closed the gap just enough that this stopped being something he could ignore.
My gaze stayed locked on him and tracked the subtle details he couldn’t hide.
The way his shoulders held tension even when the rest of him looked relaxed.
The way his focus didn’t scatter, didn’t flick around the room like most did when they were trying to play it off.
He was locked in, controlled — watched me just as closely as I watched him.
Still him.
That truth settled deeper, sharper, cutting through the last remnants of doubt that had lingered in the back of my mind.
I didn’t say his name. Not yet.
That word carried too much weight, too much history, too much risk in a place like this. Saying it out loud would turn this from a controlled confrontation into something explosive, and I wasn’t ready to blow everything up to prove a point.
But my tone shifted anyway. Subtle, but there.
“You’re not as invisible as you think,” I said in a low voice … less for anyone else and more for him. There was no accusation in it — not on the surface — just a statement delivered with enough certainty that it didn’t leave room for him to brush it off.
I let the silence stretch a second longer, not rushing to fill it, not giving him an easy out.
Because this wasn’t about catching him in a lie, it was about forcing him to acknowledge that I saw him. That whatever game he thought he was playing here, he wasn’t the only one at the table anymore.
My eyes didn’t leave his face. I watched for the smallest crack, the slightest shift that would confirm what I already knew without me having to say it out loud.
“You move like you’ve been here before,” I added, tone still even, still controlled, but sharper now, edged with something that wasn’t quite professional anymore. “Like you already know how this place works.”
Another beat. Another measured breath.
“Most people don’t pick that up so fast,” I continued, letting the implication sit between us without spelling it out. “So, either you’re a quick study…”
I tilted my head slightly, studying him like I was evaluating a problem I already knew the answer to. “Or you’re exactly who I think you are.”
He didn’t blink. That was how I knew he wasn’t going to make this easy.
Guys like him usually gave something away when they were backed into a corner.
A subtle shift of their stance, uncertainty flashing in their eyes or in their voice for just a second when they thought no one was looking.
Weakness peeked through cracks in most people’s smiles if you squeezed tightly enough.
He didn’t.
His posture was relaxed as he stood there like he didn’t even realize he had just threatened to blow up my whole world. Like we were having a casual conversation in a hallway full of people … a casual conversation that meant nothing.
He stayed loose but controlled like he always did in a way that seemed more precise than relaxed. Every shift of his frame was intentional, not natural. His eyes locked on mine, and he never once looked away. Giving me an advantage or attempting to intimidate me?
Still putting on an act. Still pretending.
I clenched my jaw and mirrored his stance, waiting for him to blink. But he didn’t.
Instead, he spoke. “Funny,” he began, his voice quiet and steady … low and controlled, like we were debating the weather rather than standing in a dimly lit hallway with two years looming between us like a fucking grievance. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”
Hearing him say that snapped me harder than it should have. Not because of what he said. That was easy. It was a simple dismissal. Textbook Aiden. Flawlessly executed as if he was going to play ignorant about what we both just realized was happening between us.
It was how he said it. His voice was unchanged. Louder, maybe, raspier.
Age had roughened him up some, but it didn’t sound like that roughened him up in the slightest. He still spoke with that same controlled cadence. That same weight to his words that used to trip me up because it never failed to make him sound like he was one step ahead.
I clenched my fist at my side before I caught myself. My fingers dug into my skin as something sharp sliced through my heart.
Fuck him for doing this to me.
Fuck him for standing here.
Fuck him for looking me in my eyes like nothing was wrong. And pretending like he gave a fuck about me at all.
“You don’t seem like you belong here either,” he continued, voice neutral, dull, conversational — like he would if he were talking to Lena Gray instead of the girl who knew exactly how Aiden Vega sounded when he wasn’t putting on an act.
“Most people here either embrace the fuckery or fall victim to it. You’re doing neither. ”
Another silence hung between us for a few seconds, like he was deciding what to say next.
“You have a way of making yourself stand out more than you realize.”
I exhaled shakily through my nose, fighting to keep my face as unreadable as his. Hearing that voice dredged up everything I swore I buried deep enough that I never thought about.
We were close enough now that I could see him, really see him. I noticed the line of his jaw and how his eyes refused to break from mine for a second. Saw how tense he was underneath that calm exterior that everyone but me would’ve probably missed.
Aiden.
My muscles twitched at my jawline, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking right at me, but enough for me to feel it.
Because he could change his face. He could change his name. But he couldn’t change his voice.
And hearing that voice again, after two fucking years of nothing but emptiness where his voice used to be, was enough to tear down walls I didn’t know I’d built.
The space between us narrowed until it didn’t feel like space anymore. Close enough that I could see the tiny shifts he couldn’t fully hide — the tension held just under control, the way his focus stayed locked on me like breaking eye contact would give something away he wasn’t ready to let go of.
I didn’t step back. Didn’t give him room to pretend this was just another pass-through, another conversation that didn’t matter. We both knew better.
I held his stare and let the silence stretch without rushing to fill it. Because this wasn’t about catching him in a lie anymore. It wasn’t about proving anything out loud. That part was already done.
It was in the way he didn’t leave. In the way, I didn’t move. In the way, neither of us gave an inch, even when every instinct said we should.
“You were always good at staying just out of reach,” I said quietly, tone even but edged now, the control still there but thinner than it had been a minute ago. I didn’t say his name. Not when everything else about this moment was already doing it for me.
His jaw shifted slightly, subtle enough that most people would’ve missed it. I didn’t.
Neither of us confirmed it. Neither of us denied it. But standing there, inches apart, breathing the same air, locked into the same controlled standoff, it didn’t matter what words we chose not to say. We both knew exactly who we were looking at. And neither of us was ready to walk away from it.