Chapter 35
Jonas’s boots echoed heavily against the concrete corridor, the sound out of step with Clara’s softer tread beside him. She kept pace, chin high, shoulders set in that stubborn tilt he was learning meant she wouldn’t bend, not to him, not to anyone.
He wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap, lock her in the safest corner of the compound, and guard the door with his own body. Instead, he was walking her straight toward Bás and Duchess.
The war inside his chest burned hotter with every step.
They reached the briefing room to find Bás already there, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as though he’d sensed Jonas coming from a mile away. Duchess leaned against the table, calm but watchful, like a hawk deciding whether to strike.
Jonas guided Clara to the chair beside him, his hand hovering at the small of her back before he forced it to drop. He didn’t need Bás catching that.
Bás’s stare cut straight to Jonas. “You look like hell.”
Jonas huffed, dry. “Been a long week.”
“Try long life.” Duchess arched a brow, then tilted her head toward Clara. “So, I’m guessing this isn’t a social visit.”
Jonas’s gut twisted. He’d intended to frame it carefully, protect Clara as much as possible. But she surprised him, leaning forward, hands clasped tight on the table.
“I need to see my mother.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Jonas’s fingers twitched, itching to reach for her knee under the table.
Bás leaned back slowly, his massive frame radiating stillness that was somehow more intimidating than a roar. “Explain.”
Clara didn’t flinch. “My father used me. Put properties in my name. Money. Deeds. Things that tie me to whatever he’s building with Oliver. My mother… she knows more than she says. She always has. If I can get her talking—”
“No.” Jonas cut in before he could stop himself. The word cracked through the room like a whip. “It’s too dangerous.”
Clara’s eyes snapped to him, hurt and fire mingling in her gaze. “This isn’t your decision alone.”
Bás’s brows rose, his gaze flicking between them. “Looks like we’ve got a difference of opinion.”
Jonas clenched his fists on the table. “You know as well as I do it could be a trap. They could use her to bait Clara, take her, force her hand. We’d be handing them leverage on a silver platter.”
Clara shook her head, her voice tight but steady. “Or I could give us leverage. She’s my mother. If anyone can draw something out of her, it’s me. And you can be there. You all can. I’m not asking to do it alone.”
Duchess spoke, her voice calm but sharp-edged. “She’s not wrong. Mothers often hold pieces fathers underestimate.” Her gaze flicked to Jonas. “But he’s also not wrong about the risk.”
Jonas’s pulse thundered in his ears. He wanted to say no, shut it down, shield Clara from every possible outcome. But when he looked at her, saw the way her jaw trembled yet her eyes burned with resolve, he knew forbidding her would break something between them.
Bás exhaled, a sound more like a growl. “Here’s what we do. We control the ground, the exits, the air above. Jonas, you stay glued to her, and we run this like an op. If her mother slips, fine. If it smells wrong, we pull her out.”
Jonas swallowed hard, every instinct in him rebelling. “And if I say it’s too dangerous?”
Bás leaned forward, eyes dark as coal. “Then you’d be saying you don’t trust your team to have her back.”
The words hit their mark. Jonas bit back the retort that burned his throat.
He did trust them. With his life. But with Clara?
With her heart-stopping smile, with the feel of her pressed against him in the shower, with the way she’d whispered she had an idea like it mattered, that was another battlefield entirely.
He reached for her hand under the table, squeezing once. Her fingers tightened around his, fierce and certain. “All right,” he rasped. “But I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
Duchess smirked faintly. “Didn’t think you would.”
The morning air in the Black Mountains carried a faint chill that bit at Clara’s skin even beneath her cardigan. She stared into the amber liquid of her tea, forcing herself to sip, though her stomach had been in knots since Watchdog, Jonas, had confirmed the meeting with her mother.
It was happening.
She was going to see Penelope.
Her chest tightened at the thought. Relief mixed with dread, because she wasn’t only going for comfort. She was going for answers, and part of her feared she might not like what she found.
“Try toast,” Valentina suggested softly, sliding a plate toward her. The other woman was dressed in hiking gear, mud already streaking her boots, Monty and Scout flopped obediently by her feet. “You’ll need a little something in your stomach before facing the day.”
Clara smiled faintly, touched by the warmth beneath Valentina’s brisk tone. “You sound like my mother.”
Valentina arched a brow. “Then listen to me for once. Mothers are often right.”
Clara managed a small laugh and broke off a corner of toast, chewing even though it stuck in her throat.
The noise of the compound hummed around her.
Reaper somewhere down the hall arguing about a weapons check, Duchess’s clipped voice on the phone to a contact, Watchdog’s low tones carrying from the tech room as he ran yet another systems test. They were all preparing in their own way. For her.
The thought made her throat tighten again, but this time with gratitude.
When she excused herself to her room, the stillness pressed in.
She stood at the wardrobe, fingertips drifting over the simple clothes Valentina had found for her.
What did one wear to a meeting that could shatter everything?
Something her mother would approve of, or something that made her feel like herself?
In the end, she chose a soft blue blouse, a colour her mother had always said brought out her eyes, paired with dark trousers and flats.
She pulled her hair into a low chignon, neat but not overly formal.
She caught her reflection in the mirror and studied the woman staring back.
Her eyes looked tired, older somehow, but there was a steadiness there, too, that surprised her.
You’re not going to cower, she told herself. Not anymore.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
“Ready?” Lotus leaned casually against the frame, her plaid trousers bright against the pale walls. Her cool gaze flicked over Clara, assessing, then she gave a single approving nod. “You’ll do. Come on. Watchdog’s running final checks.”
The mention of him sent a flutter through Clara’s stomach that had nothing to do with nerves.
She followed Lotus down to the tech room, where Jonas sat surrounded by glowing monitors.
He was hunched forward, headset slung around his neck, eyes sharp as they scanned camera feeds of the care home.
He looked utterly in his element, fingers dancing over keys with unconscious precision.
When he noticed her, he straightened and something in his gaze softened. He stood, almost awkwardly, and approached. “You look…” His throat worked. “You look good.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “Thank you.”
His hand twitched at his side as if he wanted to touch her but wasn’t sure if he should.
Then, with visible effort, he tucked it into his pocket.
“Everything’s ready. You’ll go in with Valentina and Lotus close by.
Duchess has MI5 on standby if things… escalate. ” His voice clipped over the last word.
“And you?” she asked quietly.
“I’ll be in your ear,” he said, gesturing to the discreet earpiece on the table. “With you the whole time.”
She nodded, comforted by the thought of his voice steadying her, even unseen.
Valentina entered then, her dogs trotting at her heels, harnesses jingling. “Time.”
Clara drew in a slow breath, gathering her courage. She slipped the earpiece in, feeling the weight of it like a tether between her and Jonas. Between her and safety.
As they left the compound, the crisp mountain air filled her lungs, scented with damp earth and pine. She focused on each sensory detail, the crunch of gravel underfoot, the warmth of the sun on her face, the distant birdsong, grounding herself against the swell of fear.
Because soon, she would be face-to-face with her mother. And maybe, finally, the truth.