"They're not here." Years of experience gave weight to Marcus's certainty. "This was staged. Another piece of their performance."
I turned back to the evidence, but Marcus's proximity followed me like a heat signature. The truck's emergency lights caught the wet sheen of his skin. My scientific mind fractured between analyzing evidence and measuring the precise distance between us.
"The perfect vessel requires tempering." The words scraped my throat as I read. "Like steel through water and flame, each element leaving its mark until the transformation is complete."I took a deep breath. "They're not just studying you anymore. This is—"
My hands shook as I lifted another section into the light. Water dripped from my gloves onto pages already warped byrain. The ink had run in places, creating macabre patterns that reminded me too much of blood in water.
"His form through flame will be my masterpiece," I forced out. "Pure as his strokes through dawn water, perfected through months of discipline. I've watched him grow stronger, watched his technique refine like steel being tempered. Soon, he'll be—" The words blurred as Marcus stepped closer.
His voice was just as steady as when we'd been together at the pool. "James, you're freezing."
"I'm okay." It was a lie. "We need to analyze the residue on the paper. The chemical composition might—"
His thumb brushed my cheek, ostensibly wiping away the rain. He constructed the gesture so carefully that my work-focused walls cracked. I looked up to find him watching me with an expression that stripped away years of professional armor.
"You're not fine." His hand didn't move from my face. "And neither am I."
The warehouse's broken walls disappeared behind the curtain of rain. Each point of contact between us sent sparks through my nervous system.
"Marcus." His name was raw in my throat. "We can't—"
Instead of answering, he curled his fingers into my rain-soaked hair and pulled me closer. His kiss tasted like chlorine and smoke, like crossing a threshold I hadn't known I was approaching. One hand rested on my cheek with that same careful strength he'd used to guide me through deep water.
The umbrella dropped, forgotten. The absence of it made everything feel sharper—the rain colder, Marcus closer.The downpourslammed against my back, soaking through layers of fabric in seconds, but I barely registered it. The artificial intimacy the umbrella provided was gone.
Now, there was no excuse.
Marcus's handsdidn't move—they were still as if waiting for me to push him away. But I didn't.Couldn't.His thumbbrushed once, deliberately, against the hinge of my jaw. A measured touch. A test.
Iexhaled shakily. Didn't move.
Tossing all reluctance aside, I pressed him back against the truck, need overwhelming my habitual caution. The metal was shockingly cold against my palms, but Marcus radiated heat like a living furnace. His hands settled at my waist, steadying me as my ordered world tilted sideways.
A soft sound escaped him when I deepened the kiss—vulnerable and wanting in a way that shattered my remaining restraint. Rain soaked through my jacket as I pushed closer, chasing the taste of chlorine on his tongue. His thumb gripped my hip tightly.
The radio's burst of static hit like a gunshot. "Engine 17, status check."
Reality crashed back with brutal force. I jerked away, horror flooding my system as my sense of professional ethics reasserted itself. The evidence bags lay scattered across the truck's hood, each one containing proof of a madman's obsession with the man I'd just kissed.
"I can't—" My voice cracked. "This compromises everything. The investigation, the evidence chain, my objectivity—"
"James." Marcus reached for me, but I stepped back, putting necessary distance between us.
"Don't." The word came out sharper than intended. "We can't do this. Not while he's out there planning to turn you into his—I need to maintain perspective, need to—"
My heel caught on debris, sending me stumbling. Marcus's hands shot out to steady me, and the contact burned even through wet fabric. The journal's warnings seemed to glow in theemergency lights: "chosen vessel, perfect subject, transcendent transformation."
"I should go." The words tasted like defeat. "Get these to the lab."
"Stop." Marcus's voice was quietly authoritative. "You're not running from us."
"There can't be an us." I gestured to the evidence. "Not while he's watching your every move, documenting your training, planning to make you his crowning achievement." My hands shook as I gathered the scattered bags. "I won't let my feelings compromise your safety. I can't—"
"Can't what?" The gentleness in his question cut deeper than anger would have.
"Can't watch you become another Caroline." The admission was like spitting out shards of glass. "Can't maintain professional distance when all I want—" I broke off, the truth too raw to speak.
"When all you want is what?" Marcus stepped closer, and my skin hummed, aware of imminent danger. "Say it, James."
