“Mind if I join you?”I call out to Malachi as I descend the last step into the basement and kick off my boots.
The space surprises me. It’s not cold or cement walled like I’d expected. Instead, it feels lived in, curated in that effortless, masculine way—dimly lit, warm, and quiet with plush beige carpet beneath my socks and the lingering scent of cedar and smoke in the air. An old leather couch sprawls across one wall, well-worn but inviting. A relic of a television sits across from it, the kind you’d only find in black market shops now, probably useless unless paired with an antique Blu-ray player. The idea that he’d even have one makes me smile.
The rest of the basement is a strange blend of chaos and order. Tall stacks of boxes line one entire wall, some sealed tight with crisp new tape, others frayed and faded, their edges curling like old photographs. The desk in the corner—sleek and angular—is buried beneath files and papers, a single overhead lamp casting a soft pool of light around him like a spotlight.
Malachi is perched there in the center of it, leaning forward as he flips through documents with a crease between his brows. His dark hair is tousled, and his sleeves are pushed to his elbows, exposing strong forearms veined and dusted with ink smudges. He looks up when he hears me, and the second our eyes meet, the serious expression vanishes. Something else replaces it—warmth, hunger, relief.
“Look who survived the mountain,” he says, pushing back slightly in the chair, amused. “Thought you might have decidedto stay up there in a cabin with your ex and your best friend forever.”
I peel off my jacket, draping it neatly over the edge of the couch. My body still feels chilled, but the room radiates heat from somewhere—maybe him. I cross the floor, dragging my fingers along the wall of boxes as I approach. The silence is comfortable now, familiar.
“I figured you’d miss me too much,” I murmur, stopping right beside him.
One of his hands slides around the back of my thigh, the other curling around my waist as he pulls me forward into his lap. My breath catches as I settle there, knees straddling his thighs, hands bracing against his chest.
“Oh, my little demon, I’d miss you like a sinner misses sin, like the dark misses the stars,” he murmurs, voice low and sultry against my ear. “But don’t get too cocky about it.”
His hands tighten slightly, possessive. Confident. Like I’m already his and he knows it.
“I was starting to think you might be avoiding me.” His lips curl into a smirk, but his eyes search mine—still sharp, still reading every inch of me.
“Not avoiding,” I say, letting my fingertips drift across the top button of his shirt. “I needed time to process a few things. You know, top secret mountain business.”
“Right,” he says, drawing it out. “Secret rendezvous with Calloway. Cozy fireplace. Dangerous revelations.” He leans forward enough for his nose to brush mine. “I’d be jealous if I wasn’t so damn confident in how much you want me.”
My pulse answers before I can. Still, I arch an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
Instead of answering, his hands slip beneath the hem of my shirt and rest at my waist, thumbs brushing bare skin. His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Dead certain. But if you need a reminder, I’m happy to provide one.”
I swallow, my skin buzzing from his touch. He tilts his head like he’s waiting, teasing, letting the air between us stretch taut.
Then he adds, “I’m glad you’re back, Katja. I could use your help going through all of this.” He looks over at the stretch of boxes, and the moment’s gone.
I clear my throat and rise to my feet, brushing my hands down the front of my pants. “Where should I start?”
Malachi lifts his head slightly from the desk, his eyes dragging over the wall of towering boxes behind me. “Anywhere you’d like.”
I choose one that looks like it hasn’t been touched yet and slide it toward me. I grab a couple of pillows from the couch, toss them to the floor, and sink into the soft carpet, tucking one behind my back as I cross my legs beneath me.
The files inside are layered in careful rows. I start pulling them out one by one, spreading them into loose categories around me. Names. Locations. Lab reports. The smell of old paper mixes with the faint scent of cedar from the box itself.
Malachi speaks again, quieter this time. “How was seeing Aurora?”
I glance up, surprised he asked. His eyes remain on the file in front of him, but I can tell he’s listening, waiting.
“It was really great actually,” I say, flipping over a page with a rusted paperclip attached. “She seems like she’s settling in at Cade’s place.”
He hums in response, and the room goes quiet again except for the occasional rustle of papers between us.
“Why aren’t any of these files digital?” I ask, flipping through a folder thick with faded auction records. “I know I’ve seen Marco on a computer before, so what’s with the archives?”
Malachi finishes reading the page in front of him, sets it aside, then leans back in his chair.
“My father doesn’t trust digital systems,” he says. “Anything connected to a network can be hacked, leaked, or traced. Paper has no remote access. No spyware. No digital fingerprint.”
I glance around at the towers of boxes stacked against the wall. “I guess that’s fair, but it didn’t stop us from getting our hands on all of this.”
