Page 71 of Pistols & Peonies

“Yes, but…” He shifts his weight in his chair. “Any possible rebel activity has to be escalated. Right?”

“It does,” I agree, leaning back.

“Should I coordinate a team, then?” His eyes light with anticipation, eager for action.

“Nah, I’ll handle this one,” I mutter.

Fuck. The last thing I want to do is work late tonight, but Dad’s voice echoes in my head like it always does. If you want something done right, do it yourself.

Frazier blinks. “Solo?”

I jerk my chin in a nod. “Problem?”

“Isn’t a full op required for anything rebel-adjacent?” he asks carefully.

“If I get confirmation it’s connected, we’ll proceed accordingly,” I say, drumming my fingers against the desk as impatience bleeds through my control. “No sense in making noise until we know what we’re dealing with.”

He nods, but there’s a glimmer of doubt behind his eyes. I don’t fault him for it. Questioning orders– internally, at least– is often the difference between blind obedience and competence.

“I don’t want this blown out of proportion,” I add, tone flattening into finality. “We don’t need another mess on our hands like the warehouse raid.”

My jaw tightens on reflex. Everything about that night still pisses me the fuck off. An enforcer didn’t respect the chain of command and went right to Alpha with a tip about a rebel meeting, and by the time I was informed what was happening, there was no changing course. I didn’t even make it to the city from the lake until it was all over.

Sloppy execution. No meaningful intel. Just bodies in cuffs and sentences handed down.

It never should’ve gone that way.

And yet… if it had gone differently, Violet wouldn’t be in my life.

I don’t let myself linger on the dangerous feeling that thought stirs.

“Understood,” Frazier says. “If you change your mind and want backup, I’m on call.”

I nod. Decent of him to offer, but unnecessary.

“Dismissed.”

He’s on his feet immediately, slipping out of the office. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing me back into the quiet.

I heave a sigh, rolling my neck on my shoulders. Of course this lands on my desk at the end of the day, when all I want is to go home, have some dinner, and crash.

After eating my mate for dessert, of course.

There it is again– the tightness in my chest that has nothing to do with work. It isn’t the sudden change in plans. It isn’t the potential of brushing up against rebels.

It’s her.

It’s the slow, insidious realization that we’re getting closer in ways I can’t afford. Going on as we have been will only confuse things, so it’s probably for the best that I take some time away. Put some much-needed distance between us.

I’ve got a job to do.

I begrudgingly pick up my phone, typing out a text message to give her a heads-up about the break in routine.

Working late. Don’t wait up.

CHAPTER 25

Violet