Page 203 of What We Burn

“No.” Holden’s voice is flat, but not cold. “Milo builds some sort of catch. Anything from Brock’s number—any spoof routed through it—hits all six phones simultaneously. You don’t delete. We don’t confiscate. In exchange, no new restrictions on your movement without you in the room when they’re decided.” He pauses. “That’s negotiation, wildcat. Not a leash.”

I look at Milo. He’s been quiet too long, which for Milo is a confession in itself.

“Okay,” he says, and scrubs a hand through his hair, dislodging nothing because the ribbon is already in his pocket. “Full disclosure, since we’re doing honesty at dawn. I knew about the texts—I’ve had access to your phone since the first one came through. Also there’s a tracker in your boot. But that boot is destroyed now. Rest in peace, tiny spy.”

“You—” I stare at him. “You read my messages?”

“Sometimes. But always when they were from him or about me.”

The betrayal lasts about two seconds before my own hypocrisy lands on top of it, and a laugh crawls out of me, cracked and ugly and real. “I fucked you senseless then snuck away while you were sleeping. And I also stole Knox’s file. I get to be mad. I just don’t get to pretend my lie was cleaner than yours.”

“We all lie to keep each other safe,” Knox rumbles. “I knew about the texts too. Milo told me last week.”

“I struggle keeping secrets all to myself,” Milo admits.

“Wait.” I look between them. “You two knew. For a week. Who else?”

“Nobody,” Milo says. “Just us. And before anyone murders me—I was giving you time to tell them yourself.”

“That was your call to make?” Eli’s voice goes low and dangerous.

“Yeah, actually.” Milo doesn’t flinch, which is a first. “Same call she made. Same call you would’ve made at her age with something to prove. I watched her. I kept her safe. And I waited for her to trust us enough to say it out loud.” He looks at me, and for once there’s no joke anywhere in his face. “I’d have waited as long as it took, kitten. But I’m really glad you said it before sunrise. That’s growth.”

Eli stares at him for a long moment. Then his shoulders give out, and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“I can’t do this,” he says. Not angry anymore. Just wrecked. “I can’t keep finding out after the fact how close we came to losing you. From you, or from him, or from a note under a necklace. It’s going to kill me. I mean that literally. My heart is going to stop.”

I get up. My body screams about it, but I get up anyway and go to him, and I wrap my arms around his head and pull him against my chest. His hands find my hips immediately, gripping me tight.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his hair. “Not for wanting to be my own person. But for making you grieve me in advance. That was cruel, and I didn’t see it until right now.”

He nods against me. Doesn’t let go.

“New rules,” Holden says, and finally pours the coffee. He sets a mug in front of each of us like he’s dealing cards. “Milo builds the catch today. And nobody reads her other messages—Milo, that includes you—unless there’s a threat.”

“Agreed,” Milo says. Then, quieter, “Sorry, kitten. The boot thing was genuinely just love. And I’m not going to stop doing things to keep you safe. It’s just not in me and I won’t agree to it because that would make it a lie.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s the disturbing part. And the part I love about you.”

“I am a genuine delight.”

“And you.” Holden looks at me. “No more solo fieldwork. You want a target, you bring it to the table. We vote. You’re bound by the vote like the rest of us.”

“Like a real Hangman?” I say.

“Like a real Hangman.”

“But the choker goes back on when you leave the house,” he says, eyes moving to the collar.

“Okay. The choker goes back on. Every time I leave. I promise.”

I release Eli and move back to my cushioned chair, running the terms back in my own words while Holden deals out mugs. Nothing gets deleted. Targets go to a vote and the vote binds me. The choker goes back on. In exchange, I’m in the room for every decision about my own life.

I can live with that. I might even be able to live like that.

Knox’s hand finds my knee under the table and just rests there, heavy and warm. Micah is smiling like he’s watching his favorite movie end well.

“Also,” Milo says, pulling a folded and creased piece of paper from his pocket. My note. Please don’t panic. I love you. “I’m keeping this forever. It’s the most romantic felony I’ve ever received.”