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I tilt my head back, closing my eyes as the spray beats against my throat, the bruises there a testament to how easily I'd unraveled for them. How easily I still could.

Even now, with the truth lying between us like a smoking crater, part of me aches for them. Part of me still fits too easily against their hands, their mouths, their voices low and reverent in the dark.

And worse?

Part of me feels something almost akin to admiration simmering under the rage.

A begrudging respect for how thoroughly they infiltrated my life. How carefully they threaded themselves through every inch of it until I couldn’t tell where they ended and I began.

I should have seen it sooner.

I should have paid more fucking attention—the looks I now realize were more frequent than anyone else’s. The emotions behind them I missed, too busy chasing my demons, too busy burning myself alive trying to save the world.

They weren’t hiding as well as I thought.

Not really.

Looking back, I can see it now. The way Matteo’s gaze lingered after every mission debrief. The way he never let anyone get too close before putting a bullet in them. The way Bodhi never let anyone else sit between us at HQ if he could help it. And the times he offered to spar with me just to touch me. The way both of them stood just close enough, just constant enough, like satellites that never drifted out of orbit.

It wasn’t just professionalism. It wasn’t just friendship. It was this. Obsession. Quiet. Meticulous. All-consuming.

They had stitched themselves into my life so seamlessly that I never thought to question it.

And maybe that’s the worst part. That I didn’t notice.

I was too focused on the darkness.

Too focused on tearing down every corrupt bastard who preyed on the innocent, too obsessed with embracing the fire inside me to notice the two men who had already lit the match.

I missed it.

I missedthem.

I press my forehead to the tile and breathe hard, trying not to drown in my own hindsight.

It's so much easier to be angry. So much easier to drown in betrayal. But even in the wreckage, there's a jagged, brutal admiration chewing its way through my bones.

Becausefuck, they did it. They infiltrated my life, my defenses, my heart—piece by patient, merciless piece.

God. I let them in. I never saw it coming, and I don’t know if I regret it.

Get it together, Seanna.

After what feels like forever, I finally drag myself out, toweling off mechanically. I pull on a pair of black cotton shorts and a tank top from the collection of clothes that they brought from the cabin—simple, familiar—armor against the vulnerability still bleeding out of me.

I don’t bother with makeup. Don’t bother looking in the mirror. I already know what I'd see.

When I open the door to the bedroom, the house is unnervingly quiet. No looming shadows. No waiting threats.

Just the faint murmur of voices down the hall.

I follow it.

My bare feet are silent against the hardwood as I move toward the open living room. They're there—the two of them.

Rule. Ruin.

Bodhi. Matteo.