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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Evangeline

When I wake up, the room is in darkness. My heart races, and I’m disoriented for a second until my mind reminds me where I am. The television is off, but there’s a faint stream of moonlight leaking through the curtains, which casts flickering shadows across unfamiliar walls.

I don’t spot Knight straight away. He blends into the shadows too well, but eventually my eyes adjust and I make out his shape. He’s slumped in the chair by the table, tablet resting precariously on his lap. I’ve never seen him so still. He’s been a constant force of motion and tightly controlled energy since the first moment he pressed a gun to my head.

Even in sleep, he isn’t fully relaxed. His position gives him clear views of both the door and window. One hand rests near his hip, where his gun sits in its holster. The other keeps contact with the tablet, like he can’t completely let go of whatever answers he’s searching for.

The moonlight catches the angles of his face, softening them slightly. Without the sharp intensity in his eyes, or the rigid control in his jaw, he looks less dangerous. More human.

My attempt to sit up causes the bed to creak, and his eyes snap open, hand tightening on the tablet before it can slip and fall. The movement is pure reflex, like his body has been trained to respond to potential threats before his mind even fully engages.

“Sorry,” I whisper, although I’m not sure why I’m apologizing. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He blinks, and for a second there’s confusion in his eyes. It disappears fast, replaced by his usual alertness. But I saw it, that split second where his walls weren’t quite erected.

“Go back to sleep, Glitch.” His voice is rough with exhaustion.

The nickname makes me blink. Glitch? What?

“What did you just call me?”

He shifts, rolling his neck to ease what must be awful stiffness from sleeping in that chair.

“Glitch. Because you’re an anomaly in my system.” The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “An unexpected variable.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “You don’t get to give me cute nicknames like we’re friends.” Embarrassment makes my voice sharp. “Like you didn’t chain me to a radiator.”

He frowns, setting the tablet aside, and stretching. “Cute? I’m not trying to be cute. Just accurate. And you’re the one who broke into my apartment, remember?”

“I have a name! It’s Eva. Or Evangeline, if you want to be formal about holding me hostage.”

“I know.” The words are delivered around a yawn. “Evangeline Marie Porter.” He checks his watch, and scowls. “But Glitch fits better.”

He lifts the tablet, tapping on the screen to bring it to life, and stares at it for a few minutes. His head dips forward slightly before he catches himself.

“When was the last time you actually slept? Before that chair, I mean.”

“I’m fine.” But the words lack their usual bite, undermined by the way he blinks several times to focus.

“You’ll miss something if you keep pushing.” I don’t know where this courage is coming from. Maybe it’s the late hour, or maybe watching him sleep made him seem more human. “Let me take the chair. You need proper rest.”

A sound that might be a laugh escapes him. “Right. Because I’m going to trust the woman who broke into my apartment and unleashed a virus on my entire system to keep watch while I sleep.” The words sound more like habit than anything else.

“You trusted me enough to fall asleep in that chair.”

“That wasn’t trust. That was a tactical error.” He yawns again. “One that won’t happen again.”

“Look, either you sleep for a few hours in an actual bed, or you crash right in the middle of something which could get you killed. Your choice.” I slide off the bed, moving toward him. “I’ll be right here, where you can see me.”

“If I’m asleep, I won’t be able to see you. That’s the point.”

I roll my eyes. His narrow. But exhaustion has stripped away some of his usual intensity. “Am I supposed to believe you won’t try to run the second I close my eyes?”

“Where would I go? You said it yourself—someone orchestrated all of this. Running won’t solve anything.” I reach him. “Just sleep. I promise I won’t smother you with a pillow.”

“That’s comforting.” But he stands. And then he catches me off guard, when his hand closes around my arm before I can sit. “Against the wall.”

“What?”

“If you think I’m sleeping with you anywhere but trapped between me and solid concrete, you’re delusional.” He checks his gun, then slides it under the pillow. “Move.”

I could argue. Should argue. But he’s right. Neither of us is going to truly trust the other. This might be the closest we get to it.

The bed feels smaller with both of us in it. I press myself against the wall, trying to maintain space between us, but his presence fills everything. The mattress dips under his weight, and I catch the scent of generic motel soap mixed with something distinctly … him .

“Try anything stupid,” he says into the darkness, “and you’ll find out just how light I sleep.”

The threat should scare me. Instead, I just sigh, wondering if he threatens everyone, or if it’s just his way of maintaining distance. Of pretending this forced intimacy isn’t affecting him in some way too.

“Just go to sleep. I’ll try to contain my homicidal urges until morning.”

A sound that might be another rusty laugh comes from his side of the bed. “Your sarcasm needs work, Glitch.”

I want to snap at him for using that stupid nickname again. I want to remind him that we’re not friends. That this isn’t anything except temporary survival. Instead, I close my eyes, and listen while his breathing evens out as exhaustion finally claims him.

What am I doing?

I’m sharing a bed with the man who held me captive, when I should be planning escape routes, or ways to overcome him.

Instead, I find myself drifting on the edge of sleep, aware that the man who terrified me for hours is now between me and whatever dangers might come through that door. In the morning, I’ll have to face the decision I’ve made. I’ll have to remember why I don’t trust him, and why I shouldn’t forget what he’s capable of. But right now, in this strange space between waking and sleeping, I let myself believe that we’re both just trying to survive whatever game his mentor is playing with our lives.