"No." I shook my head. "No more pulling back. No more thinking you have to handle this on your own."
He closed his eyes for a second, then forced them open again, searching my face like he was looking for a reason to believe me. "You don't know what you're getting into."
I sighed. "I think I do."
"You don't stop, do you?"
"Not when it matters."
James held my gaze for a long moment, then sighed, his good hand lifting just enough to brush over my ribs, the touch light but deliberate.
"Raines isn't going to stop either. Not until he gets what he wants."
"Then we don't let him." I pulled back to gaze deeply into his eyes. "We take the fight to him."
James exhaled. "That's not really a plan."
"It's the start of one."
His lips twitched like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. He merely studied me.
I reached down, taking his good wrist in my hand, pressing his palm against my chest.
"I'm here," I said quietly. "And I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't say anything. Didn't pull away. His fingers rested against my chest, my heart pounding beneath them.
And for now, that was enough.
Chapter eighteen
James
The mattress beneath me held indentations of Marcus's body, worn in places that spoke of restless nights spent mentally processing calls that went wrong. I traced the subtle valleys with my fingertips while Marcus breathed steadily beside me, his presence simultaneously comforting and overwhelming.
Sleep refused to come. Whenever I closed my eyes, my brain remembered details I couldn't shut off—the precise temperature required to melt different synthetic fibers and how smoke had curled through my apartment with deliberate artistry.
Marcus shifted closer in his sleep, reaching his arm across my ribs. The contact should have felt stifling after everything, but instead, it anchored me.
When I turned my head to study his profile, I saw the subtle rigidity in his jaw. Even asleep, he held himself like someone prepared to wake at any moment. Ready to run toward whatever was burning.
"James." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "You're thinking loud enough to wake the neighbors."
"Didn't mean to disturb you."
"Wasn't really sleeping." His eyes fluttered open. The usual sharp focus was softer around the edges but no less intense. "I keep seeing your apartment and how close you cut it."
I tensed. Marcus delivered me from danger without hesitation, but I hadn't considered how it affected him and how many other burning buildings held ghosts he couldn't escape.
"We could try counting sheep," Marcus suggested, chuckling softly. "Or I could recite fire codes until we both pass out."
"The complete NFPA standards? Tempting." I pushed up onto one elbow, needing a little more space to breathe.
Marcus propped himself up, studying me with that careful attention he brought to unstable structures. "What do you need?"
The question caught me off guard. People didn't usually ask—they expected me to analyze and maintain professional distance. Marcus had a way of dismantling my defenses without seeming to try.
"I need..." I paused, trying to choose the right words. How could I explain that I needed both space and proximity? That my brain wouldn't stop calculating, but his presence was the only thing keeping me from disappearing into those equations?
