"Of course you do. That doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."
We stand there for a long time, him holding me while I cry out weeks of pain and loss. When I finally pull back, my eyes are swollen, and my nose is running.
"I'm a mess," I mutter.
"You're perfect."
"Liar."
"Truth teller." He wipes my tears with his thumbs. "Have you eaten today?"
"I don't remember."
"That's a no. Come on. Margareta made soup."
"I need to finish tracing this account..."
"It can wait an hour. You need food."
He's right. I've been so absorbed in the work that I forgot to eat. Again.
We have soup in the kitchen, just the two of us. It's quiet, comfortable. He tells me about the interrogations and whathe learned from the captured attackers. I tell him about the financial trail I'm following.
"You're good at this," he observes. "Better than anyone I've had before."
"It's just numbers."
"It's more than that. You see patterns. Connections. You think like a criminal while having the skills of a forensic accountant. That's rare."
"Are you saying I'm wasted on the legitimate side of things?"
"I'm saying you'd be incredible at anything you chose to do."
The compliment settles warm in my chest.
After dinner, I go back to the spreadsheets. Axel works beside me, handling other business, but we're together. It's become our routine. Working in comfortable silence, occasionally bouncing ideas off each other.
Around eleven PM, he closes his laptop with a sigh.
"I need to stop. My brain's fried."
"Mine too." I save my work. "Any progress on your end?"
"Some. Viktor's narrowing down the suspects. We'll know more tomorrow."
"And the person who ordered the attack?"
His expression hardens. "That's being handled."
I know better than to ask for details. There are parts of his world I'm still not ready to see.
We head upstairs together. I'm exhausted, emotionally drained from my father's call and hours of intense focus. All I want is sleep.
But when we reach the bedroom, Axel stops.
"I need a shower. Get the blood and stress off me."
"Okay."
