Page 61 of Lock

Stupid of me to have started that. Stupid of me to want to hear it again.

I pushed into my office and wasn’t even a little surprised to find Wraith in my chair, his boots on my desk, flipping his knife open and closed.

He didn’t look up. Just kept moving the blade, slow and steady. Waiting to get a rise out of me.

“Morning, Prez.”

I shut the door behind me, hard enough that the frame rattled. Hoping he would take the hint… but of course he didn’t.

“You sleep at all?” he asked, tone light. “Or did you?—”

“Finish that sentence,” I said evenly, “and you’re cleaning the communal bathrooms for a month.”

Wraith’s mouth twitched as he flipped the knife shut. “So that’s a no.”

I didn’t bother responding. “Why are you in my office before breakfast?”

“Delivery’s on track. First truck cleared the weigh station at five. Should hit Savannah by noon.” He shrugged. “Came to see if you’re coming on the next run.”

The run. I should go. The road always cleared my head.

But the second I pictured Kellan alone upstairs—in my room, in my shirt, in my cut—something low and territorial twisted hard in my gut.

“I’m staying,” I said.

Both eyebrows went up. “Since when do you skip a run?”

“Since Saint is in a hospital bed because the Reapers think we’re soft,” I snapped. “I’m not leaving the compound until Rowan’s week is up.”

“Interesting timing,” he said, watching me too closely.

I glared. “Say it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “What I’m thinking, Prez, is you didn’t sleep in your office last night.”

My jaw tightened. “Drop it.”

“Didn’t smell like the couch was used,” he added casually. “Smells like something else, though.”

I stepped closer. “Wraith.”

He lifted both hands, palms out. “Relax. I know you. You wouldn’t cross that line.”

Havoc rules. Omegas—ours or not—were protected. Consent was ironclad. No pressure. No force.

My jaw ticked. “I didn’t?—”

“You didn’t sleep in here,” he cut in. “That’s all I’m saying.”

I exhaled sharply. “Then what are you saying?”

Wraith’s expression shifted, amusement draining out, replaced with something steadier.

“Just hoping you know what you’re doing, Prez.”

That hit deeper than I liked.

He leaned back, his boots sliding off my desk. “Lock… you’re the one who’s gotta hand him back to his father in a few days.”