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"Then we make sure she doesn't have a choice." My beast settles into cold determination. "Because I'll be damned if I let them use her dedication against her the way corruption has been used against this entire town."

Diesel studies my face, reading something there that makes him nod slowly. "What's the play?"

"We show her the evidence. All of it. Make her understand that staying here means giving them every advantage." I move toward the door, mind already mapping the fastest route to Nova's apartment. "And we make sure she knows she's not fighting this war alone anymore."

Not the way I've been fighting this war—alone like a fucking idiot.

Nova's been holding her own against Royce while they've been watching her every move. Impressive as hell, but she deserves better odds than that.

And whoever thinks they can bug her office and run her off roads is about to find out what happens when you threaten my people.

Nova's building sits quiet in the midnight darkness, most windows black except for the glow from her corner unit. She's still awake, probably working through case files, unaware that every document she's touched has been catalogued by the enemy.

"You sure about this?" Diesel asks as we climb the stairs, evidence bags in hand. "She's been dodging your calls since the road thing."

"She doesn't get a choice." I knock on her door, controlled, focused, though every instinct screams to break it down and drag her somewhere safe.

Footsteps approach, slower than they should be. The peephole darkens.

"Ash?" Her voice carries through the wood, rough with exhaustion.

"Found something you need to see. About what happened today."

Locks turn, and the door opens wider than I expected. She's changed out of her uniform into jeans and an oversized t-shirt, gun belt hanging on a hook by the door where she dropped it the second she got home. Dark circles ring her eyes like bruises.

She looks like she's been running on nothing but caffeine and stubbornness for days.

My beast snarls at that cut on her temple. Someone got close enough to hurt her. Close enough to—

Fuck that. Not happening again.

"You okay?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

"Define okay." She steps back, letting us in without argument. "Santos said you found something."

"Your office isn’t safe. You need to move your investigation to the war room."

Her jaw tightens, and she runs a hand through her hair in frustration. "We've been over this, Ash," she says, reading my expression. "I can't show any sign of leaning to one side or the other. Not until this case with Royce is resolved."

"I figured you'd say that." I dump the evidence bag on her coffee table, surveillance devices spilling across her files. "That's what we found in a ten-minute sweep of your office. No telling if there's more, or how fast they'll be replaced."

Nova stares at the bugs, and I watch exhaustion transform to something sharper. The same focused intensity I glimpsed in that photograph, the determined set of jaw that runs in the family.

"Military-grade," Diesel adds quietly. "Placed when Morris cleared out his stuff, probably. Someone with access and expertise."

"They've been listening." The words scrape out of her throat as she picks up one of the devices. "Every strategy session. Every witness prep." Her fingers close around the small black bug. "Every legal move we planned against him."

The scope of it crushes down on her. "The Bauers' appeal."

"And the Hendersons' hearing last week. The Garcias' whistleblower testimony." I lean closer. "Everyone who trusted you with their case. Everyone who thought they had a fighting chance."

She doesn't move, but I see it—the subtle change in her breathing, the way her pulse jumps at her throat. Not fear for herself. Something deeper.

"Shit." Her voice turns hollow. "If you'd mentioned that loan paperwork about the Bauers in my office, they'd have lost their house today. Royce would have known exactly what evidence we had and moved to block it."

Her eyes meet mine, and I see the moment it clicks.

"The Garcias have that sealed affidavit from Victor's former accountant." Her voice cracks. "They're scheduled to meet with the state prosecutor on Thursday, and Royce will be one step ahead."

She sets the device down with deliberate control, but her fingers leave indents in her palm when she pulls away. "He knows exactly when and where to intercept witnesses. Which evidence to destroy. Which judge to pressure."

"You couldn't have known—"

"Don't." Just one word, but sharp enough to slice. "I should have checked. I should have been more careful."

Her eyes meet mine, and for one unguarded moment, I see the raw wound beneath her badge—not just failure, but the devastating knowledge that families will lose homes, land, livelihoods because she missed something.

Then she straightens, shoulders squaring. Not bending. Not breaking. Just recalibrating.

"We need to move up the timeline." Her voice hardens with each word. "Get those depositions recorded, evidence secured, witnesses protected before Royce can get to them."

No tears. No collapse. Just fierce, focused rage finding its target.

Her eyes drop back to the surveillance devices, then catch on my hands. The bandages around my knuckles. When she looks up, I'm already watching her face, and she doesn't look away.

"We will," I tell her. "The MC can help."

Her jaw tightens as she scans the room, tallying the invisible damage. "He thinks he's won by knowing our playbook." The ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Poor bastard doesn't understand what he's done."

Fuck, even with her world crashing down, she's already three moves ahead. But I see what she's doing—the way she's using tactics to avoid feeling the hit. It’s the same way I use violence to avoid thinking.

My beast wants to hunt down the bastard who put that look in her eyes. But what she needs right now isn't my rage. She needs me to follow her lead.

"What's that?"

"Made this personal. Given me cause to bend every rule I've been following."

I study her face, searching for cracks in that iron resolve, finding none. She's recalculating, adapting, the analytical mind behind that badge changing focus with ruthless efficiency.

"This changes everything," she says, more to herself than to me. "We need a new approach. Somewhere secure to operate from."

The opening I've been waiting for. "The war room at the clubhouse. Swept for bugs daily. Soundproofed. Every file, every call, every strategy session stays clean."

Her jaw works as she weighs options rapidly diminishing. I can almost see the calculations running behind those eyes—risk versus reward, pride versus protection, lone wolf versus reluctant alliance.

"Same offer as last time. you take the lead, but we share intel. No secrets as far as Royce is concerned." I keep my voice level. "Joint task force. Official cooperation."

"And my apartment?" She glances toward her bedroom. "They could have—"

"Clean," Diesel interjects. "But for appearances, it'll look better if you're here at night. We'll have a prospect sit on the place during the day, one of us in the shadows every night. No more case business happens here, though."

I shoot Diesel a look for giving her an escape route when I need her contained and protected. But he's right. She'll need personal space, somewhere to retreat when the walls of cooperation get too tight.

Nova considers this, rubbing her temples. In the dim light, the resemblance to that photograph is even stronger, the same stubborn tilt of chin, the same refusal to break under pressure.

"I'm in charge," she says finally. "My investigation, my rules."

"Agreed."

"And when this is over..." She meets my eyes. "Back to how things were."

My beast grows restless, but I nod.

She looks around her living room, scattered files, the evidence of fighting alone evident in every exhausted gesture.

"Twelve hours," she says. "Set up your war room. After that, we work."

It's not a victory, I force myself to accept. It's a strategic alliance. Nova Reyes just chose to trust me with the fight I've been waging for two years. Choose to tag me in.

She's not Carman—some idealistic kid who got in over her head. Nova's steel wrapped in flesh, and she just proved it by crossing every line she's drawn to protect this town.

Ten minutes ago, she was fighting this war with one hand tied behind her back, following every rule in the book. Now she's ready to fight dirty.

I thought Nova following rules was dangerous. Turns out that was her with the leash on.

Watching her break free from those self-imposed rules is the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen.