Page 100 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Jax enters, closes the door behind him with quiet finality.

"You can't be here." But I don't move from the bed, don't put down the tiger.

"Your confession earlier. About Antoine." He stays by the door, maintaining distance that feels like consideration rather than rejection. "You were thinking of me before we even started this."

"Yes."

"Why tell me?"

The question hangs between us, demanding honesty I'm not sure I can give.

"Because I needed you to know the timeline." My fingers tighten on synthetic fur, toes pointing into relevé involuntarily, the way they always do when I'm cornered. "That this isn't just proximity or mission stress. I was compromised before you ever touched me."

"And now?"

"Now I'm destroyed." The admission comes out steady, factual. "Completely, irreversibly destroyed."

He moves closer, slow enough that I could stop him. I don't.

"The team knows," he says quietly. "Cole asked if we need intervention. Asher offered to reassign surveillance pairs. Remy just bought noise-canceling headphones."

"Because we're that obvious?"

"Because you haven't been subtle about falling apart." He sits on the bed, careful not to touch me. "And because I've been just as bad. Did you know I've walked past your door seventeen times in the last three nights? That I can't focus on intelligence briefings because I'm calculating how many hours since I tasted you?"

The parallel to my own counting makes my chest tight.

"This isn't sustainable," I whisper.

"No," he agrees. "It's not."

"So what do we do?"

He reaches out, fingers ghosting over the tiger in my hands. Not quite touching me, but close enough that I sense the heat.

"We stop pretending it's just physical." His eyes meet mine, vulnerability cracking through his usual confidence. "Stop running from what this actually is."

"Which is?"

"Inevitable."

The word settles between us like prophecy. Like doom.

"Tomorrow's briefing—" I start.

"Will happen whether we're fighting this or not." He stands, moves toward the door. "But Mira? That tiger on your nightstand isn't evidence of weakness. It's proof that you're brave enough to want something beyond control."

He leaves before I can respond, closing the door with the same quiet finality.

I lie back on the bed, tiger clutched against my chest, and stare at the ceiling. Three doors down, he's probably doing the same thing. Both of us pretending these walls between us mean anything.

They don't.

They never did.

Tomorrow I'll sit in that briefing, scarf around my throat, and pretend I'm rebuilding professional distance. He'll drum his fingers in that pattern that means he's fighting for control. The team will watch us circle each other like wounded animals.

But tonight, I hold synthetic fur and count the hours.