Page 66 of Killaney Fire

I instantly see her spark return, and even if it's directed at me, I'm sure as hell happy to see it. That defiance, that refusal to bow, it's what makes her impossible to look away from.

"Obviously you don't agree," I say and rub my forehead. "But I think you staying here is best."

"You," she says as she pushes herself upright despite the pain and glares at me, "should go. I need to be alone."

"You're mad."

"No shit I'm mad."

"Your brothers are right," I say calmly.

She laughs in disbelief. "Oh, of course you agree with them," she says, her eyes flashing. "Of course you side with Callum and Declan. What else is new?"

"I side with keeping you alive," I counter, my voice firm. "And for the record," I tell her, standing, "you just almost died. So excuse me if I'm not thrilled about the idea of you running headfirst into more danger."

She sits up straighter, ignoring the pain that flickers across her face. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't feel it? I was there, Octavian."

"Then act like it."

"Act like what?" She's almost shouting now, her voice raw. "Act scared? Act helpless? Sorry to disappoint you, but that's not who I am."

"I'm not asking you to be helpless, Keira. I'm asking you to be smart."

"You mean controlled."

"Yes," I say flatly. "Controlled, by me. Because control keeps you safe. That's my main goal here."

"Stop fucking reminding me I'm just your job!" she snaps, throwing off the covers. "I'm a person, asshole. Every time I need you, you act like you're punching a clock."

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Because what can I say that won't make it worse? That I want to tear off this job title and touch her like she's mine?

I want to tell her I'm scared that if I let her slip into any other category, I'll lose the clarity I've spent years surviving with.

I've been pushing her into my job box over and over because I don't know if I can keep my distance otherwise. I don't know if I'll be able to walk away when this is over.

"Look," I tell her, forcing my voice to stay level, "if there's one thing I've noticed about you, you're good with people. You're relatable. You know how to pry without being awkward. You charm them, disarm them, get them to tell you things they shouldn't. That's your strength," I say and take a step closer to her, "Running around Boston chasing people down, kicking in doors, firing bullets, that's not what you'd be good at. That's your brothers' area. Let them do that," I continue, "Focus on something only you can do."

She grabs a pillow and tosses it across the room in frustration. "Oh, don't act like you know me."

"That," I say, pointing at the pillow, "that's the problem."

She scoffs.

"You're fire, Keira, but you can't control yourself. You think it makes you strong, but you can't aim. Instead of burning who deserves it, you'll torch the whole damn city."

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think she's going to reach for another pillow to throw at my head, but she doesn't.

Instead, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, wincing as pain shoots through her ribs. I almost rush in to helpher, my body already halfway to her, but she shoots me a look that stops me cold.

"Thank you for that unsolicited suggestion," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Keira—"

"No, really," she says, walking stiffly to the bathroom. "You can leave now. Your 'job' is going to shower."

Before I can say anything, she walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

I stare at the closed door for a long moment.