Page 29 of The Hacker (Dominion Hall #5)

We stayed like that for a long moment. Three people in a too-small living room, trying to reassemble our lives from the scraps.

Then Elias shifted. “I can have a car ready by morning,” he said. “We’ll fly to New Orleans on my jet. I’ve got a contact who can help smooth the paperwork—expedite the discharge, make sure there’s no red tape.”

Emmaline turned to him, still a little stunned. “You’re serious?”

He nodded. “Completely.”

I hesitated, something cold creeping up the back of my neck. “Norton said I wasn’t supposed to leave Charleston. Not yet. That there could be legal trouble if I did.”

Elias’s gaze sharpened, protective. “I know. And I’ll take care of it.”

“How?” I asked, not quite ready to believe anything could be that simple.

“I’ve already made some calls,” he said calmly. “By morning, your travel restriction will be officially paused. Temporary exemption, documented and signed. I know the language they need to hear. And I know the people who answer the phones.”

“And if that’s not enough?” I asked quietly.

He met my eyes. “Then we play a different kind of game. I’ve got lawyers on standby. The kind who don’t flinch at messy. If someone tries to turn this into something it’s not—tries to use Jessa’s death to pin something on you—I’ll be ready. I’m building a firewall around you.”

The words settled over me like armor I didn’t ask for but desperately needed.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’re not going through this alone. Not one second of it.”

I smiled, then reached for Emmaline’s hand again. “So, we get Mom here first. Settled. Safe. Then we’ll figure out the rest. One step at a time.”

She nodded, eyes glassy but grateful. “Okay.”

“I’ll call Saint Cecilia’s at first light,” I added. “Let them know we’re coming.”

Elias slid his phone into his pocket. “We’re not staying here tonight.

I'll take you both back to Dominion Hall. It’s safer there, in case any reporters or worse come poking around.

” He glanced at Emmaline. “You’ll have one of the guest suites.

Pack your things now, so you’re ready to fly in the morning. ”

He looked over at me like maybe he’d overstepped, but I just arched a brow. “Are you trying to seduce me with logistics?”

He grinned. “Is it working?”

“A little,” I admitted. “But only because I’m too emotionally wrecked to play hard to get.”

Emmaline groaned softly, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I can’t believe you two are flirting in the middle of a crisis.”

“Maybe that’s how we cope,” I said.

Elias nodded. “It’s either banter or destruction with us. Sometimes both.”

Emmaline glanced between us again, but this time, there was a softness in her gaze.

She didn’t say anything, but I knew that look.

It was the one she used to give me when I came home from ballet with a bruised knee and refused to cry—quiet admiration for the fight, even when she didn’t understand it.

She stood. “I need a shower before we uproot our entire lives.”

“Take your time,” I said. “Tomorrow starts early.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Elias and I stood there for a moment, alone again in the hush of dim light and old walls. The bar below had gone quiet. The city seemed to be holding its breath.

He looked around the apartment, taking it in like it was a sacred space.

“I always wondered what it looked like in here,” he said.

“And now?”

“It suits you.”

“Messy and overworked?”

“Lived-in,” he corrected. “Beautiful in the way that matters. Like someone poured their soul into every inch.”

I smiled, but it trembled at the edges. “I don’t know what tomorrow will be.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

He reached for me then, fingers brushing my cheek. “It’s not easy. But it’s right.”

I leaned into him—into the quiet promise behind his voice. “Don’t let me fall apart tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” he said.

Elias tilted his head down, lips ghosting near my temple. “And if you do, I’ll be right there. Holding the pieces.”

I nodded against his chest, letting myself breathe for the first time since the rooftop. Since the scream.

Jessa’s death wasn’t done with me. Not even close.

There’d be a funeral. An obituary with a photo that didn’t do her justice.

A church bulletin and a closed casket and people whispering about what really happened on that rooftop.

I’d have to face her family. Her sister, who’d always eyed me like I was the bad influence.

Her father, who once told Jessa I’d either break her heart or get her killed.

I wondered if they’d look at me like I’d delivered both.

I didn’t know if they’d even want me there.

But I’d go. I had to. I’d stand in the back pew, if that’s all they’d give me, and I’d grieve her out loud.

Because she mattered. And because guilt like this doesn’t go away just because someone says it wasn’t your fault.

“I think I love you,” I whispered to Elias.

“I know,” he said. Then, after a beat: “I think I love you, too.”

There wasn’t fire in it. Not tonight. Not yet.

There was just warmth. Steadiness. The kind of love that doesn’t need permission to exist—it just does.

And as I stood there in the quiet, knowing the hardest days were still ahead, I also knew something else.

I wouldn’t be facing them alone.