Page 53 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost (Nightfall Syndicate #2)

thirty-six

Vanessa

" Y ou've told me the transmission specs three times already."

I spin around to face Asher, who's watching me pace his living room with that calculating stare. Every surface around us is covered with our equipment. Laptops, monitors, communication devices, and tactical gear scattered across his once-pristine space.

My fingers tap against my thigh in an irregular rhythm. The familiar itch of anxiety crawls under my skin, making stillness impossible. "I know, but if the primary channel gets compromised—"

"The backup will activate automatically." His voice carries that cool, clinical tone that's been driving me crazy all morning. "You programmed it yourself."

The fog presses against his floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the morning light gray and muted. We're suspended in a cloud, cut off from the world, and the weather isn't helping my nerves.

"I should call Slate. Get the updated server access codes." The words tumble out before I can stop them.

Asher's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Upstairs. Secure line in the tactical room."

I grab my phone and head for the staircase, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, his footsteps follow.

The tactical planning room is pure Asher. Surveillance photos of Vertex Models cover one wall, building diagrams with entry points marked on another. The large window offers a strategic view of San Francisco's skyline, now just ghostly shapes in the dense fog.

I settle at his desk and input Slate's number into the secure communication system. It rings twice before his familiar voice comes through the speakers.

"Thank God, Nessa. I've been trying to reach you—"

"This is a secured line. You're on speaker with Frost." My voice sounds hollow, detached.

Asher positions himself behind my chair, his presence both protective and distant. Close enough to shield me, far enough to maintain the invisible wall he's built since I nearly died.

"Right. Okay." Slate's tone shifts to match mine, professional, empty of the warmth that used to exist between us. "Security rotation is every thirty minutes. Blind spot at the northeast corner, seven minutes after each change. Today's server codes are 847392, and they'll reset at midnight."

My fingers fly across the keyboard, taking notes. Each technical detail gets filed away in neat mental compartments labeled 'operational necessity' instead of 'helping the man who used to make me laugh.'

"Backup access through the emergency maintenance tunnel. Entrance is on the northwest side, concealed behind the dumpster. Security camera has a five-second delay on the loop. That's your window."

"Got it." I finish typing and lean back in the chair. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." His voice softens slightly. "Be careful, Nessa. These people—"

"I know what they are." The words come out sharper than intended. "We're good here."

The silence stretches until Slate clears his throat.

"Got it. Griffin out."

I end the call from the secure system and stare at my phone screen until it goes dark. My reflection stares back from the black surface—pale, tense, nothing like the confident hacker who used to crack jokes with Slate during late-night coding sessions.

"You handled that well."

Asher's voice makes me turn. He's studying the building plans with the same intensity he brings to long-range calculations, but there's something rigid in his posture that wasn't there before the call.

"Professional distance. Isn't that what you taught me?" The bitterness in my voice surprises us both.

He doesn't respond, just continues examining the diagrams as if they hold answers to questions he won't ask.

I stand abruptly, the chair rolling back. "We should go over the infiltration route one more time."

Without waiting for his response, I head downstairs to the kitchen. The open space gives me room to move, to think. I need coffee. Or maybe I need to stop pretending this morning feels normal when everything between us has shifted into something unrecognizable.

The espresso machine hums to life, familiar and comforting. Steam escapes in small puffs as I program the settings. Behind me, Asher's footsteps stop at the kitchen island.

"Vanessa."

Something in his tone makes my shoulders tense. I don't turn around.

"The operation parameters are solid. You've run every scenario." His reflection appears in the stainless steel surface of the coffee machine. "What's really bothering you?"

My hands still on the controls. "Operational parameters? Is that what we're calling this?"

"What do you want me to call it?"

The question hangs between us while coffee streams into the cup below. When I finally face him, he's standing with his arms crossed, that mask of professional detachment firmly in place.

"A conversation. Like normal people have." My voice cracks slightly. "Remember when we used to talk about things that weren't mission-related?"

"We're not normal people."

"No, you're not a normal person. You're a ghost who occasionally remembers he has a body when it's convenient.

" The words spill out with all the frustration I've been swallowing for weeks.

"Do you know what it's like? Having someone hold you like you matter one minute, then treat you like mission equipment the next? "

His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his dark eyes. "I'm protecting you."

"From what? Caring too much?" I step closer, anger giving me courage. "Because newsflash, I already care too much. I care so much it keeps me awake at night. I care so much that every time you look at me like I'm just another asset to be managed, it feels like drowning."

The muscle in his jaw jumps. "Feelings compromise operational effectiveness."

"Bullsh—" I catch myself, take a breath. "You want to know what compromises operational effectiveness? Having a partner who's so terrified of connection that he turns into a robot every time things get real."

Thunder rolls overhead, rattling the windows. The storm matches the turbulence building in my chest.

"I'm not built for this." His voice is so quiet I almost miss it.

"For what? Having someone give a damn about whether you come home alive?"

"For having someone I can't afford to lose."

The admission stops my tirade cold. We stare at each other across the kitchen island, the granite surface stretching between us like a chasm.

I move around the counter slowly, deliberately. Each step brings me closer to the man hiding behind tactical precision and emotional armor. When I reach him, I can see the tension in every line of his body.

"Too late." I place my palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath the cotton of his shirt. "You already have someone to lose. The question is whether you're brave enough to keep me."

His breathing changes, becomes shallow and controlled. For a moment, I think he might step away, retreat behind another wall of professional distance.

But his hands come up to frame my face.

"Little bunny." The nickname is rough, broken. "You don't understand what you're asking."

"I'm asking for you. Not the sniper, not the ghost. Just you."

Something snaps in his control. His mouth crashes against mine with desperate intensity, backing me against the wall until the cool surface presses against my shoulder blades. Every kiss feels like an apology and a claiming all at once.

His hands slide down to my waist, lifting me until my legs wrap around his hips.

"This isn't smart." He breathes the words against my throat.

"Since when do I do smart?" My fingers tangle in his hair, pull him closer. "Smart would be staying away from mysterious snipers who treat emotions like tactical liabilities."

He pulls back to look at me, his dark eyes searching my face like he's memorizing every detail. The vulnerability there takes my breath away—raw, unguarded, terrified.

"You could have anyone." His thumb traces my cheekbone with heartbreaking gentleness. "Someone safe. Someone who wouldn't put you in danger just by existing."

"I don't want safe." Cupping his face in my hands, I force him to hold my gaze. "I want you. All of you. The good, the bad, and the completely infuriating."

His forehead drops against mine. For a long moment, we just breathe together, sharing the same air in the quiet kitchen while fog swirls outside.

"I love you," I whisper against his lips.

The words hang between us, naked and honest and impossible to take back.

Asher goes completely still. His breathing stops, his hands freeze where they rest on my waist. Every muscle in his body locks up like he's been turned to stone.

When he finally pulls back to look at me, his expression is unreadable. Completely blank in a way that makes my stomach drop. Whatever I expected, this careful emptiness isn't it.

The silence stretches until it becomes its own living thing, filling the space between us with everything he can't or won't say.

Outside, thunder rolls across the bay, and I realize the storm isn't just in the sky anymore.