“Why?” I ask.
“Because it felt wrong to say it without you there. We’ve shared everything since we were born, Cy. The good and the bad. When we say those words to her, it should be both of us.”
The elevator reaches the parking garage with a soft chime, but neither of us moves. I’m caught in the strange tensionbetween us—something unfamiliar and raw that’s been growing since Keira entered our lives.
“We’ve never loved anyone before,” I say quietly. “Not like this.”
“I know.” Ace releases my hand, his fingers trailing against mine. “And now we have to keep her safe. No matter what.”
“We protect her with everything we have,” I say, voice rough. “Every resource, every contact. Kozlov doesn’t get anywhere near her.”
“Agreed.” Ace’s eyes harden with resolve. “We take him out first. Pre-emptive. Before he can make a move.”
“Together,” I say, extending my hand. “Like always.”
Instead of taking my hand, Ace pulls me into a tight embrace. I wrap my arms around him, feeling the familiar weight and strength of my other half.
“I love you, brother,” he says quietly, the words muffled against my shoulder. “Have since we were kids in that hellhole. No matter what happens, that doesn’t change.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. “I love you too. Always have.”
We break apart, both uncomfortable with the naked emotion but steadier for it.
“We should tell her,” Ace says as we walk toward the car. “About how we feel.”
“Tonight,” I agree. “Let’s do it right. That salmon recipe you make—the one with the dill sauce she liked.”
A small smile crosses Ace’s face. “I’ll cook. You get flowers. The purple ones she likes.”
“And we tell her it’s not about the Hunt,” I add, voicing what we’re both thinking. “A year isn’t enough. We want her?—”
“Forever,” Ace finishes. “If she’ll have us.”
We climb into the car, Ace taking the driver’s seat while I check my weapons.
“We need to reach out to Felix,” I say, focusing on the task at hand. “Get eyes on Kozlov’s operation, find out where he’s staying.”
Ace nods, shifting the car into drive. “Already texted him. He’s setting up surveillance.”
Our hands brush as I reach for the center console at the same moment Ace adjusts the AC. We both pull back instantly, like we’ve touched a live wire.
“What about Keira’s schedule?” Ace asks, eyes fixed intently on the road. “She has that performance at the underground club next week.”
“Too exposed,” I reply. “We need to postpone it.”
“She won’t like that.”
“Better angry than dead.”
The silence that follows feels weighted, uncomfortable. I catch Ace glancing at me from the corner of his eye, then looking away when I turn toward him. There’s an undercurrent pulling at us—something that’s been building since that night Keira confessed her fantasy.
“When we get home—” Ace starts, then stops, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. We focus on Kozlov first, then dinner.”
But it’s not nothing. It’s something neither of us has vocabulary for—this shifting gravity between us that Keira somehow unleashed. It’s in the way we can’t quite meet each other’s eyes, the way our bodies seem hyperaware of proximity.
