Page 132 of The Final Cut

Boom. How ya like them apples. I angle my face down and swipe the card, waiting as the doors open. I am woman, hear me⁠—

Deacon is already inside. I stop with one foot over the threshold.

“Roar.”

He stands against the back wall in black jeans, a black hoodie, and the expression of a man who has been waiting on his girlfriend in a department store changing room. His hair is damp like he showered and never finished drying. One hand rests low at his side, near the gun I can’t see and know is there anyway.

My heart lurches hard enough to make me angry.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m here for fun and games?”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

His gaze moves over my face, my hoodie, my boots, the empty place where my phone should be. “You dressed for it.”

“I am not going back upstairs.”

“I didn’t tell you to.”

The elevator hums around us.

I stare at him because I need him to be the obstacle. Obstacles are useful. Obstacles let me push. If he tells me to go back to Nash’s bed, if he reaches for my key card, if he says one careful thing about safety, I can turn the panic into anger and use it until I get through him.

Deacon only holds the door with one hand.

“Hospital?” he asks.

My throat tightens.

“Yes.”

He nods once. “Then move.”

Watching him warily, I step into the elevator. The doors close, sealing us inside a small mirrored box where I look pale, furious, and too young in the reflection. Deacon presses the button for the garage level.

“You’re not stopping me,” I say.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you stayed when Nash asked.”

I look at him.

His eyes stay on the numbers above the door. “You stayed at the cabin. You let us bring Delia back. You moved when Ever told you to during the drone test. You left with us when the cabin was blown. You have been choosing the hard thing for days. Weeks, really.”

“And now?”

“Now you are choosing another hard thing. It just doesn’t happen to be the hard thing Nash wants you to choose.”

The elevator drops in silence after his explanation. I don’t have words to reply to him.

Outside, a black SUV waits with its lights off near the end of the private parking level. One of Nash’s men sits behind the wheel and does not look surprised to see me, which means I did not fool as many people as I wanted to.

Wonderful. Espionage skill level: zero.