Page 31 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Miguel got the results an hour ago," Kade says. "We called everyone immediately."

An hour. An hour of knowing Roman might be alive while I sat in a restaurant letting a dangerous woman put her hands on me.

The contrast makes me feel sick.

"What's the plan?" Cole asks, always practical.

"We investigate." Kade's tone brooks no argument. "Quietly. Carefully. If Roman's alive, we find him. If someone took him, we get him back. If he chose this..." He pauses. "We find out why."

"I'll expand the blood analysis," Miguel offers. "Look for familial matches, rare markers, anything that might identify whose blood this is."

"I'll review all of Roman's last communications," Vanessa adds. "Looking for anything we missed."

"Surveillance footage from his last known locations," Asher says. "I'll reconstruct his movements."

Everyone has a task, a purpose, something to do with this earth-shattering information.

Except me.

I stand there, keys spinning again, leg bouncing under the table, mind racing betweenRoman might be aliveandMira's hand on my thigh.

"Jax." Kade's voice cuts through my spiral. "You good?"

No. I'm not good. I'm fragmenting at the molecular level, torn between grief and hope and the memory of hazel-green eyes.

"Yeah. Solid."

Nobody believes it, but they move on.

"We reconvene tomorrow with findings," Kade continues. "Until then, everyone stays sharp. If Roman is alive, there's a reason he's stayed hidden. That reason might put us all in danger."

The feeds cut one by one. The team disperses slowly—Cole gripping my shoulder, Remy muttering about hitting the gym, Asher disappearing into his data.

I stand there, staring at the blank screens.

Roman might be alive.

And all I want to do is call Mira and tell her everything.

The realization washes over me like cold water. I've known her three days, and she's already the person I want to turn to with this. Not the team I've bled with for years. Her.

That should terrify me.

It does terrify me.

But I'm already pulling out my phone, already typing her number.

Then I stop.

Because if Roman taught me anything, it's that trust is earned. And Mira hasn't earned mine yet.

Has she?

eight

Mira

The knife balances perfectly on my fingertip, spinning slow rotations in the condo's soft lighting. Throw. Catch. Throw. Catch. The rhythm usually centers me, but tonight my mind keeps drifting to the restaurant. To his hand covering mine. To the way his voice cracked when he had to leave.