Page 66 of Blackwood

“You need more than that. You need real emotional connection. Not just sex. Not just a warm body after a mission. You need someone who seesyou.”

I cross my arms. “I have the girls. We talk all the time. Ellie, Hal—”

“Nathaniel says you’re pretending with the girls,” Monroe cuts in.

My jaw tightens.

“He says you smile, you perform. That you’re hiding behind this version of yourself that looks fine on the outside, but is rotting underneath.”

“Well, Nathaniel apparently needs to learn to keep his fat trap shut.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ve built walls so high even the people who love you can’t reach you anymore. You compartmentalize. You sleep with Laing and then go dance, smile, and play house with your best friends like none of it touches you. But it does.”

I look at the window, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

“Sex isn’t the problem,” he says. “The problem is you’ve convinced yourself it’s the only thing you’re allowed to feel. Like if you let yourself love someone, really love someone, you’ll lose them.”

I glance at him. Quiet. He’s not wrong. He’s never wrong. Fucking hate that about him.

“You think if you love someone, they’ll die,” he says gently.

I don’t respond.

“Zeke. Dylan. Elise.”

Still nothing.

“Bella, if there was someone out there who could give you both—the release and the connection—wouldn’t that be worth letting in? Even just a little?”

I scoff, dry and sharp. “If they exist, I’ll send them a thank-you card. But no. I’d still probably run.”

He waits.

I meet his gaze. “Emotions get messy. Attachments get broken. Look, I’ve buried half the people I’ve ever loved. The ones I fuck seem to be the ones who survive.”

He exhales, long and quiet. “Bella,” he says, “you’re using sex like a tourniquet. It might stop the bleeding temporarily, but it won’t heal the wound.”

“Good thing I’m not trying to heal,” I mutter.

“Then what are you trying to do?”

I glance away. Again, I don’t answer. Because if I say it out loud, it makes it real. And I don’t think I’ll survive that.

Dr. Monroe just watches me. Silent. Patient. Like he’s waiting for the crack to finally split wide open.

“Bella.”

And it does.

“I’m trying,” I snap, breath catching. “I’m trying to find the fucking person responsible for taking my family away.”

The words rip out of me before I can stop them. Sharp. Shaking. “The person who killed my brother. The person who… who ripped Zeke away from me like he was nothing. The person who turned me into this cold bitch everyone loves to whisper about behind my back.”

My chest rises, tight and shallow, eyes burning as I shove up from the chair, pacing now like my skin’s on fire.

“I’ve got my mission,” I spit. “That’s it. That’s all I fucking have. I wake up, I train, I dance, I kill, I fuck, and I keep moving. Because if I stop. If I let myself feel anything for too long, I’ll fall apart again and I’m afraid that even Knox won’t be able to bring me back this time.”

I stop moving. Just stand there. Frozen. Shaking.