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Her insides dropped away into nothingness, and she stared at him, a giddy weakness sizzling through her. For an instant she thought she might slide right out of the chair. “Stop being cute,” she muttered, still watching the screen, hot and cold and decidedly light-headed, she dredged up a mildly rebuking look. “I can’t handle that right now. I’m in computer genius mode, and you, handsome, are still very distracting.”
His gaze promised something more…later. “Cuteness holstered for now.”
She didn’t smile, but she felt it. That soft bloom of warmth under her ribs. It wasn’t just the flirting. It was theease. The rare, impossible sense that she could justbe, and it would be enough.
God, what if this was it? What if they stopped pushing for answers and justchoseeach other instead? Her throat tightened. The thought came unbidden. Unreasonable. Could she let go of this chase? Strengthenthisconnection? Discard this endless drive to prove, to uncover, to fix what had already broken in some bid to make herself whole? Could she rest? Could Nash?
Inside this strange little bubble, just her and Nash and the quiet hum of code and warmth and closeness, she almost believed she could.
She trembled inside from the ache of how good it would feel to stop fading. To stop beingonlyuseful. To simply exist in someone’s gaze and know she was whole.
Rory stepped through the door a few minutes later, clipboard in hand, eyes already hard at the interruption. Nash eyed the clipboard, then gave her a look, and it took all her willpower to suppress her laugh. That irresistible mouth kicked up in a very wicked grin.
“We need access to the annex,” Grace said, swiveling in her chair all the way around to fully face him. Her tone wasn’t harsh. It was professional, edged, and absolute.
Rory hesitated, his eyes flicking between her and Nash like he’d missed a beat in a conversation that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with power.
“The annex again,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not typically?—”
“Then untypical it,” Nash said, voice low and level, smooth as steel. Rory straightened instinctively, like posture might protect him. “We’re not here to rubber-stamp sanitized files,” Nash added, flat and final. “We didn’t fly here to pat your systems on the head.”
Rory knew he was outgunned. He sighed. “You’ll need dual login. I can get you thirty minutes.”
“Then start the clock,” Grace said, her voice landing sharper than Nash’s. She was done waiting to be let in.
Rory stared for a beat. Not from her words. At her.
Like he’d just realized whatever lame barriers he erected, she wasn’t standing around waiting for him.
She stood and gathered her tablet, already unplugged and in motion. Nash fell into step beside her. Not ahead of her. Not clearing a path. He didn’t need to. The path bent around them now.
Rory mumbled the room number. “We remember,” Nash said, not acknowledging him. Neither did Grace.
They moved like a unit to the elevator, then exited onto the floor. The hallway leading to the annex stretched quiet and cool, lined with sealed panels and retinal locks. No footsteps behind them. No drones in the corners.
Same white walls. Same low hum of fluorescent lights humming just outside human hearing. But the temperature had dropped enough to tighten the skin across Grace’s forearms. She tugged down her sleeves, but it didn’t help. The chill didn’t come from the air. It came fromunderneaththe silence.
He moved with that low-burn alertness she’d come to recognize, never loud, never loose, just always one breath from kinetic. But today...the edges were softer. Rooted in something quieter.
Her.
She didn’t want to say it out loud, not even in the private corners of her own mind, but the thought curled somewhere under her skin like warmth trapped beneath armor. He wasn’t touching her. They hadn’t even brushed sleeves. But she felt him. Like a frequency tuned to her hearing. A silent, steady hum that reminded her she wasn’t alone in this. Not anymore.
OrdoTech was all control and closed doors. A place built to silence questions before they became problems. But walking beside Nash now, she didn’t feel like a question. She felt…chosen.
That steadied her.
They reached the annex, Clean Room 3, officially. The same air-gapped space Grace had demanded access to on day one. Isolated. Untouchable. The kind of room where secrets didn’t just hide. They were engineered. The overhead lighting cast everything in a too-crisp glow that never quite touched skin. As if warmth had been calculated out of the blueprints entirely.
Nash scanned the door, even though he didn’t need to. She watched him do it anyway, the subtle sweep of his eyes, the small flex of muscle in his jaw when the hallway stayed quiet.
Then he looked at her. Just a flick of his gaze, a silent question spoken in that pause they’d started building between them, a breath they always seemed to share.
“You good?” he asked.
Grace nodded. “You?”
His mouth tipped just slightly. A half-smile. Half-truth.