Page 37 of Grim’s Angel

“That sounds dangerously close to a relationship for a man who looks terrified of letting anyone get close.”

“I’m not terrified.”

“Your eye twitched.”

“Combat injury.”

Her laugh warms the space between us.

I withdraw carefully and help her into the bathroom. We shower with my bandaged shoulder outside the spray and under her strict supervision.

Afterward, I wrap her in a towel, bring her water, and change the bedding while she watches from the doorway.

“You do aftercare.”

“I take care of what is mine.”

Her brow rises.

“What chooses to be mine,” I correct.

“Better.”

“Keep training me, Angel.”

“It may take years.”

“I’m available.”

Her smile fades into something tender.

My phone vibrates on the dresser.

Striker’s name fills the screen.

I answer and watch McKenna pull on my shirt. The hem reaches her thighs. The sight makes the cabin feel less like a place I hide and more like a home I have been waiting to recognize.

“Talk,” I say.

“Motion sensor on the lower service road tripped twice,” Striker replies. “Rook found a drone in the trees. Commercial model. The camera was still transmitting when he brought it down.”

Every warm thing inside me turns cold.

“The men from the station?”

“Probably. Lock traced the drone’s remote ID to a Cyrus Rivers shell company. They’ve narrowed you to the mountain, Prez.”

I look at McKenna.

She reads the change in my face and reaches for clean underwear and a pair of jeans without asking whether something is wrong.

“How long until the extraction team gets here?”

“Seven minutes. Two vehicles.”

“Sweep the north approach before you come in.”

I end the call, get dressed, and pull on my cut.