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The third call? That one's for Ava's peace of mind. A text to Dean, letting him know she's "safe", followed by a very intentional omission of what we're actually doing.

By the time I'm off the phone, Ava is pacing the length of her apartment, arms crossed, clearly still high on whatever reckless adrenaline rush got her to insist on this in the first place.

"Let me guess," she says, pausing mid-step. "You charmed your way in?"

I sink onto her couch. "Something like that."

Ava narrows her eyes. "And?"

"And…" I stretch out my legs, getting comfortable. "Now we wait."

She stops pacing, looking almost… disappointed. "That's it?"

"Sorry, sweetheart," I say lazily, "were you expecting anOcean's Eleven-style heist?"

She scowls, muttering something about how I make everything too easy, but the way her shoulders soften gives her away. She wanted an invitation. Now she has one. And judging by the way she pointedly avoids looking too pleased, it's exactly what she was hoping for.

"So," I say, purely because I like annoying her, "you satisfied?"

Ava purses her lips, then exhales, flopping onto the couch beside me. "For now."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Knew that was coming."

She throws a pillow at me. I catch it easily, tossing it onto the coffee table.

The conversation fades into a quiet that lingers, not heavy, not quite light. Ava leans her head back against the couch, eyes tracing the faint patterns in the ceiling, lost in thought.

I think about telling her to get some rest. The gala is still two weeks away, and there's time for everything else later.

But I stay.

I watch as her breathing evens out, as the tension in her frame unwinds, slow and unhurried. For the first time tonight, exhaustion slips through the cracks, softening the sharp edges she's been holding up. And I wish, more than anything, that I could take even a fraction of it from her.

So I do the only thing I can.

I reach for the throw blanket draped over the armrest and settle it over her lap. She doesn't open her eyes, but her lips quirk slightly.

"I don't need you to tuck me in, Carter."

"Yeah, yeah." I grin, but I don't move the blanket. "Get some sleep, Bennett."

I don't know if she hears me, but a few minutes later, her breathing evens out.

I sit there a little while longer, watching the rise and fall of her chest, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside.

And then, eventually, I let myself go home.

* * *

Two weeks later, and at the very second we step into Vanessa's gala, I regret everything.

Not just agreeing to this. Not just walking Ava into this mess. But every single decision that led to my standing in this room, playing this game, standing next to her and pretending I'm not completely aware of how dangerous this is.

Because Ava?

She's a fucking vision.

She stepped out of her apartment in a red dress that might actually be the end of me. Sleek, fitted, with barely-there straps and an open back that reveals way too much smooth skin. Her hair is swept to one side, lips painted some shade of red that I will absolutely be thinking about for the rest of my life.