Chapter 26
Wren
After composing my thoughts and emotions for a moment I reach for the door handle with fingers that only shake a little.
Before I can grip it, the door jerks outward from the other side.
Cool air rushes in to greet me as Ryoden stands there, one hand braced on the frame, the other extended toward me.
“Let me,” he says quietly, that formal composure already beginning to settle over him like armor.
For a heartbeat, I just look at his hand that’s been on me multiple times in the car already today. It hits me again that from here on out we have to keep up the facade of a real couple, with intimacy.
That’s all this is.
I slide my palm into his and he curls his fingers around mine, the warmth of his grip steadies me as he helps me down.
The asphalt is slick under my boots and my balance wobbles as I adjust to being upright again after so many hours in the seat.
His hand tightens, anchoring me until my body remembers how to work.
“Easy,” he murmurs, so low only I can hear it. “We’re not in a rush.”
Even when I’m steady and nod at him, he doesn’t let go right away.
His thumb brushes once along the side of my hand in what could be passed off as a simple, reassuring stroke, but it sends a quick, traitorous flutter through my chest. Then, as if remembering himself and the role we’re meant to play, he steps closer and slides his hand around me, guiding me forward with his palm settling at the small of my back.
It’s just for the show.
It’s nothing, really. Just a touch to steer me toward the entrance. Just a strategy to look normal to prying eyes. My heart doesn’t seem to understand the difference and I have to quickly smooth the crease that gathers on my brow.
Eli falls into step a pace behind us after he shuts the back door and locks the jeep.
When I glance over my shoulder, he’s already straightened into a perfect soldier’s silhouette—chin up, shoulders square, gaze sweeping the scene with practiced alertness.
No trace of the teasing boy who said chill pill remains.
We move along the line of cars toward the main doors.
Up close, the entrance looms—broad steps climbing to towering glass framed in steel.
Light pours out in a warm flood that spills down the stone steps.
Two guards in pressed gray uniforms flank the doors, rifles slung with casual familiarity over their shoulders to rest at their back.
Their gazes are sharp over the polite smiles they offer each arrival.
Conversations float through the opened doors, laughter puncturing the hum of voices. An overwhelming amount of scents wind together: floral, spice, and a musk of too many people in one space.
As we approach the entrance, Ryoden’s hand stays firm at my back, a quiet point of contact that keeps me from wanting to run away entirely under the weight of staring eyes.
I can feel them on us already—the quick flicks of attention, the double-takes at my plain clothes, and the occasional narrowed gaze at the bruises on his throat.
I have no clue how he plans to explain them and I’m mentally kicking myself for not pushing him to have a more concrete plan in place. There are so many answers that we need to be on the same page with. I tuck it away to bring it up the next time we’re alone.
The guard nearest the door steps forward, his eyes widening the moment they land on Ryoden’s face. He snaps his heels together, saluting so quickly it makes my head jerk back in surprise.
“Colonel Kane, sir,” he says, voice deepening from the previous person I just heard him greet. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Ryoden replies, the words clipped and formal. He tilts his head toward Eli. “Please note that Specialist Morrow is with me. He has full access to come and go from the building.”
The guard nods, almost tripping over his agreement. “Of course, sir. Of course. I’ll ensure his credentials are listed with our security team.”
Ryoden guides me through the glass doors without further preamble and the world outside is instantly sucked away in a rush of warmth and sound.
The interior is massive, as I assumed it would be with the view from outside.
What shocks me is how it seems to open all the way up from within the middle of the building, all the way to the top.
Light spills from an enormous chandelier made of what has to be thousands of glass pieces.
I follow the specks of light reflecting onto the polished floor beneath our feet that has swirls of gray veins running through it.
Ryoden presses us further into the entry way and my gaze snags on every detail that I can take in, unsure if I’ll ever have a chance like this again to see the inner workings of those in charge on this side of the war.
Flags and banners hang from the upper railings, some bearing symbols I recognize from Charlotte and a few cities along the way here—stars and stripes.
Clusters of officers in varying black and gray uniforms stand in loose circles, each with a woman draped on their arms in gowns that sparkle and flow like water.
The air buzzes with conversation, but then all at once, the noise dips.
Like a flock of birds changing direction in the same heartbeat, heads turn and eyes latch onto us.
Onto the man at my side.
Whispers return as Ryoden’s hand presses a fraction more firmly at my lower back.
Out of the corner of my eye I note that his spine straightens and his shoulders pull back.
I can feel the moment the man who cooks for me in a small kitchen gives way to the colonel who commands an entire city.
It’s subtle—nothing more than a cooling of his expression and a sharpening of his gaze—but it’s there.
The circle of people nearest the center of the lobby parts, creating a clear opening to the man standing at the center of it all, staring directly at us. I know he’s the one in charge by the way everyone’s gaze swings back to him, attentive and waiting.
He’s not the tallest in the room, but he carries himself like he towers over everyone nonetheless.
His hair is silver, cut short all over and combed with precision.
Deep lines sink into the skin around his mouth and eyes, but there’s nothing soft about them; they look carved there by long years of scowling, not laughing.
His uniform is immaculately pressed, jacket decked in rows of ribbons and medals that flash under the chandelier’s light.
His eyes are what snag me, though—pale, a washed-out blue or gray, hard to tell from this distance.
The way they land on Ryoden and sharpen with a focus that feels like the moment a predator locks onto its prey.
It makes a chill crawl down my spine at the thought and a strange feeling comes over me to want to step in front of Ryoden and take the focus off of him.
I fight it, keeping my feet firmly planted and following his lead.
A smile curls the older man’s mouth, but it doesn’t touch those eyes one bit.
“Colonel Kane,” he says in a booming voice, stepping forward with the unhurried confidence of someone who expects the world to move around him. His voice carries easily over the hum in the lobby. “You made good time. I didn’t expect you for another two days.”
Ryoden’s hand leaves my back so he can salute with crisp precision.
“General,” he acknowledges. “Thank you for granting the audience.”
The General’s gaze flicks briefly to the darkening bruises at Ryoden’s throat, and something unreadable passes through his expression. Just as I’m afraid he’s about to ask about it, he seems to catalogue it and tuck it away, his eyes shifting to me.
“And this,” he says, his tone turning almost sickly sweet, “must be the lucky woman who finally tied down our famous Colonel. I didn’t think we’d see the day. He’s always been so focused on climbing the ladder and our war.”
The words are pleasant enough, yet his tone makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand.
I have to fight the instinct to want to pull on Ryoden’s sleeve to get us both away from him. Instead, I incline my head slightly and manage, “Sir,” in a voice that doesn’t sound anywhere near as shaky as I feel, thankfully.
His eyes sweep over me from head to toe, causing that chill at my neck to travel through the rest of me.
“I’m General Thorn,” he states as he extends a hand toward me. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss…?”
My mind blanks and my heart jumps into my throat. We never settled on what name I was going by. Another clear issue with our lack of planning. I want to kick Ryoden for not seeming open to coming up with a cover story and then myself for ignoring my gut that felt it was pertinent.
For one heartbeat, all I can hear is the thunder of my own pulse. I stare at the General’s hand blankly as my mind spins out, not remembering a single name I could choose from.
A light pressure at the small of my back makes me blink as Ryoden’s fingers pull me back to the present, a steady, grounding weight.
“Wren Hale,” he supplies smoothly before I can open my mouth. A dry chuckle comes out of him as he turns to look at me with a smile plastered on his face. “Well, soon to be Wren Kane. She’s my fiancée.”
The lie slips out of him with such ease that no one watching would suspect the name was chosen in the span of a heartbeat. But I see the tension lining the edges of his eyes and feel the slight tightening of his fingers against my spine.
I force myself to smile back at him before looking back to the General whose heavy gaze never leaves my face. “My apologies, sir. I’m just so in shock still at the Colonel here recently asking me to marry him that I sometimes forget that it’s going to be my new name so soon!”
The lie tastes like ash coating my tongue and throat, but what feels worse is the energy radiating off this General. It’s like a layer of oil is suddenly floating through the air and enveloping us to trudge through.
The General’s smile deepens. “Miss Hale,” he repeats, rolling the name on his tongue like he’s tasting it for flaws.
My skin crawls at him uttering my new fake name, and then he takes my hand in his.
His skin is warm and dry, grip firm without being overtly crushing.
It should be unremarkable, but then the way his fingers close around mine and his thumb sweeps across my knuckles in a gentle caress sends alarms flaring in my mind.
The faint scent of his cologne suddenly clogs my senses as he tugs me closer to him.
He lifts my hand, and before I can think to pull it back, his mouth brushes my skin.
I feel the ground rumble beneath my feet right then and there as I decide: This man is my enemy.
The kiss is chaste, a mere ghost of pressure on the back of my fingers, but revulsion flickers through me all the same. There’s a possessiveness and appraisal in his eyes and demeanor. A quiet, absolute certainty that everything in this building ultimately exists under his hand.
Perhaps even outside of this building.
As I try to blink away my disgust, it hits me then that I felt the ground quake slightly.
Did I imagine that?
Did anyone else feel that?
“It seems Charlotte has been very generous with its treasures lately,” General Thorn murmurs, eyes dipping to my covered chest as he lowers my hand.
I feel Ryoden’s steady warmth pressing against my back once more, and without thinking twice I step back firmly into him, instinctively knowing I’m safe there. His arm snakes around my waist, his hand settling on my hip possessively.
Between wondering if the earth is finally opening up to greet me once more and the deeply rooted feeling to get as far away from this man as I can, I keep my mouth shut, knowing I’m in no state to try to tell pretty lies for our ruse.
Ryoden easily cuts in, smooth and appropriately deferential.
“It’s an honor to bring my fiancée here and introduce her properly,” he answers for me. “I look forward to the ball and showing her the beauty of headquarters.”
The General’s beady eyes jump between Ryoden’s face and mine for a beat and it feels like we’re one second away from him calling us on our lies.
I can picture it so clearly—him calling for all those in uniform to take us and throw us in a cell, declaring us traitors—but then he steps back half a pace and nods.
His gaze lingers on where Ryoden’s hand still touches my hip, cataloguing and assessing. Then that not-quite-smile returns.
“I look forward to hearing all about your…developments,” he finally supplies.
“Both personal and professional. We’ll speak two days from now, once everyone’s arrived.
” His hands come to clasp at his front, expression suddenly guarded and neutral.
“We will have your bags taken up to your suite. I had you placed on the twelfth floor. Good view of the lake with a balcony.”
It doesn’t escape me how unnerving it is that he knows such details. Does he know those things about everyone’s assigned room?
“Thank you, sir,” Ryoden replies with practiced ease.
The General’s gaze settles on me one last time and I slowly raise my hand to rest atop Ryoden’s at my hip. I squeeze lightly, needing his grounding warmth and presence more than ever to keep from squirming.
“Welcome to Headquarters, Miss Hale,” he says softly, inclining his head. “I hope you enjoy your stay. It’s going to be an interesting week.”
He turns away before I can respond, already absorbed back into the ring of officers he was with prior, their conversation folding around him like a cloak. The noise of the lobby swells around us again, though a few pairs of eyes still linger on us with open curiosity.
Ryoden exhales slowly, a barely audible sound at my side. His hand presses a little more firmly against my hip as I feel him take a deep breath, his chest rising against my back.
“Come on,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes my ear. “Let’s get settled and we can talk.”
I let him steer me across the gleaming floor, past watching eyes that somehow make me feel like they’re stripping down every lie we’ve wrapped around us with ease.
Each step carries us deeper into the heart of human power, into the building where men like the General may decide the fate of every human on the earth this week.