Dave smoothed his tie and forced his face into the mask everyone expected.
The door creaked open.
“Still hiding in here?” Stone’s voice was rough, steady, impossible to ignore.
Dave looked up. He didn’t need to look twice to know the room had shifted.
Stone filled the doorway like a shadow come alive—six and a half feet of coiled muscle and quiet threat, dark hair swept back from a wide forehead, storm-colored eyes cutting through the room as if nothing could hide. Gray threaded his black hair and crow’s-feet etched around his eyes from a lifetime of watching for the kill.
He moved with the slow, certain stride of a jungle cat, unshaven jaw tight, every inch the predator. Once Erebus’s most dangerous assassin, now his right hand, Stone carried himself with a sex appeal that wasn’t polished but carved—raw, inevitable, impossible to ignore. Tattoos crawled up his forearms like battle scars written in ink.
And as always, when those storm-colored eyes locked on him, Dave felt something tighten low in his chest, a restless churn that stole his breath for half a second before he forced it down.
Stone held two mugs in his hands and crossed the room, setting one cup on the table between the chairs.
“You came bearing tribute. I suppose I should be grateful,” Dave said.
“It’s decaf.”
Dave’s smile faltered. “I hate decaf.”
“That’s why I brought it.”
Stone sank into the opposite chair, his gaze cutting sharp through the polished wood and pretense. “You’ve been drowning in caffeine since sunrise. Your heart’s not bulletproof.”
Dave’s brow lifted, but his gaze dropped to Stone’s left shoulder. “How’s it holding up?”
Stone smirked, wry and sharp. “Six months, Dave. I’m fine.”
Dave’s jaw tightened. Stone getting shot had carved years into him.
“It’s November. Cold’s not doing you any favors.” His voice came out clipped, colder than he intended.
“Cold never did. But I’m still here.” Stone shrugged, rolling his shoulder as if to prove it.
“Don’t push it.” Dave’s reply stayed sharp, distancing.
Stone’s smirk edged sharper. “What? You want to kiss a boo-boo?”
Dave’s pupils blew wide with shock before his scowl snapped back into place.
“Ass,” he muttered.
Stone only chuckled, low and satisfied, leaning back like he’d won something.
Dave’s jaw flexed, the echo of that hospital call still etched in his bones—hours waiting, years carved off his life. He couldn’timagine Stone not being here. And yet, in the moment, he did what he always did—shoved it down, masked it with distance.
“What do you need, Stone?” His voice was clipped, more abrupt than he meant, but safer than the truth.
Stone leaned back, stretching out like he owned the room.
“Not everything is about missions and orders. Sometimes it’s just about showing up. About being here. With you.”
For once, Dave had no immediate answer. His chest tightened—not with pain this time, but something he couldn’t dismiss as easily.
“You okay?” Stone frowned.
Dave forced a nod. “Fine.”
