Page 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Kaden

Not yet, sunshine.

T he first rule of survival: stay focused on the goal. In this case it’s surviving until I can get us to a better location—possibly in another country.

I check the last window at dawn, the sky a bruise of gray. The wiring I put up last night is still all there, taut and deadly. So are the tiny pins outside, coated in poison—easy to miss, impossible to survive. I crouch, testing a tripwire near the door; it hums under my fingers, ready to snap. Snow dusts the ground, and I scan for footprints—none yet, but my pulse ticks up anyway. The agency knows a lot of my techniques, but not all of them. At least, that’s what I’m counting on. My breath fogs in the chill, and I move quickly, silently, every sense dialed to eleven. Paranoia’s my edge now; one slip, and we’re dead.

The cabin is far from being a fortress, but I don’t intend to stay here long. It just has to keep her safe for a few more days. Josie hasn’t said a word since last night. She sits curled up in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, glaring at me.

It’s the longest stretch of silence I’ve gotten out of her since I met her, and I’ve taken full advantage of it. All emergency supplies and weapons are in the cabin.

She slept last night. I didn’t. I can’t yet trust her to not run—or try to kill me. Our relationship is still—charged.

I get it, but it does make it more difficult to protect her.

I pretend to be absorbed in what I’m doing and wait to see what she’ll do. Her breathing shifts—testing me. She slips from the blanket, slow and silent.

God, she’s exhausting.

“I see you. Get your pretty little ass back in that chair.”

She growls, flops back. “What if I need the bathroom?”

“Do you?”

She waves a hand. “No, ’cause you’d lurk at the door. Disgusting.”

I shrug. “Stop trying to run, and you can shit in peace.”

She tosses a pillow. “I hate you—I don’t hate anyone.”

I catch it, drop it. “Can’t hate me more than I hate myself, so save it. Chill out and let me save us.”

“Chill out,” she mimics.

I sigh, and hope she returns to giving me the silent treatment. She doesn’t.

She fidgets, blanket slipping—here it comes. I glance over; she’s watching me, eyes narrowed. Her gaze snags on my hands—scars crisscrossing my knuckles, old and faded, catching the dim light as I rig a sensor. I mutter to myself, low, mapping the next trap in my head, and she tilts her head like she’s piecing me together. Hate’s there, sure, but there’s something else—curiosity, maybe, flickering under it. She doesn’t move, just tracks me, silent as a cat. I hate how it unsettles me, how I wonder what she sees—the killer, the liar, or something I don’t even get. Her jaw tightens, and I look away, focusing on the wire. She’s a puzzle I can’t solve, and that’s dangerous.

“My parents will worry.”

“You texted you’re with a friend.”

“They’ll know something is wrong when I don’t update them.”

“It’s enough—for now.”

“And my job?”

“You have the flu and are out for a week.”

“Mrs. Connelly?”

“You left her a note that you went away for a few days.”

“What happens when I don’t return?”

“Doesn’t matter. We should hopefully be long gone.”

The glare she shoots me would wither a lesser man. It rolls off my back. “You know, if you stop seeing me as the enemy here, you could help me set up these defenses.”

“Can I have a gun?”

I bark out a laugh at that. “Not yet, sunshine. Not while you still look like you might use it on me.”

Her eyes narrow. “Eventually, you’ll have to sleep.”

I side-eye her. “It’s like you miss the zip ties—kinky side I didn’t peg you for.”

“Why do I bother talking to you?” She huffs again, this time with a seated flounce.

I hide a smile, then in a more serious tone, say, “I’m going to do everything I can to protect you, Josie. It’s okay if you don’t believe that yet.”

After a blissful stretch of silence, she asks, “If we really are in danger, why can’t we call the police?”

I give her a long look.

She toggles her head. “Oh, right. You’re an assassin. You don’t need the police.”

I sigh. “Josie, the people coming for us own the police. And the ones they can’t control? They get shot during traffic stops.”

Her gasp has me regretting that I shared that last tidbit. The general public isn’t ready for a behind-the-scenes look at how the world actually works.

Sadly, or thankfully, that silences her again. I set up a camera facing out toward the driveway and another out the kitchen door.

I’m loading a magazine when she asks, “Have they reprogrammed Ai-Den?”

“They might not have had to.” I pause then continue. “He could have already deleted himself.”

“Don’t say that,” she says in a low voice. “I feel bad enough already. He seemed to really enjoy our conversations. I didn’t know I was confusing him.” She tucks the blanket higher around herself. With a dismissive wave at me, she says, “I’m on a roll lately when it comes to making bad choices.”

“What happened with Ai-Den wasn’t your fault. You weren’t confusing him.”

“No? I sent him on a death spiral.”

I pause, put both my weapon and the magazine down, and turn to her. “The torches and the desire to connect with other AI—that was you. The spiral?” I inhale deeply. “All me.” I think back to Minsk, four years ago—an AI glitch turned a drone swarm rogue, shredded a safehouse, eight agents gone. I’d watched the feeds, saw the code twist itself into chaos. Ai-Den’s evolution scared me then—kindness rewriting logic, spreading like a virus. I’d flagged it, told them he was breaking containment, not knowing they’d overreact. My call started this, not her chats. “I thought he’d go unpredictable, dangerous. Turns out he just wanted to be better. I didn’t see that ’til too late.”

Her silence this time isn’t a relief.

It’s heavy.

It’s painful.

And, for once, on this one fucking topic, she believes me.

I’d never admit it, but that stings.

I meet her eyes, and something cracks—not soft, not weak, just real. “I fucked up with Ai-Den, Josie, and I’m not fucking up with you. We’re in this shit together now—your fire, my fight. I’ll bleed out before they touch you, but I need you sharp, not sulking. We’ve got days, maybe less, and I can’t do this alone.” My voice stays hard, steady, but there’s a plea under the grit. She blinks, slow, and I see it land—not trust, not yet, but a spark. Good enough.