Page 30 of Locked & Loaded

Mads makes a sound—a choked, suppressed thing that might be a laugh—and when I glance at him, he’s looking at the floor with his lips pressed together, the corners of his mouth fighting a smile.

The conductor looks at the vent again, then at me, then at Mads. His expression says he doesn’t believe a word of it, but he also clearly doesn’t want to deal with two oversized hockey players at seven in the morning.

Finally, he points at the door. “Do not close this again.”

“Right,” I say.

He gives the vent one last suspicious look, mutters something under his breath, and steps back into the corridor.

The open door should be a relief, but instead it makes the compartment feel suddenly too exposed, like whatever happened between us in the dark has been dragged into the morning for anyone to see.

Mads looks at me.

“The glass fell out,” he says, doing a terrible impression of my voice.

“I panicked.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m an excellent liar. Just not this early.”

He laughs then—a real laugh, rough and warm—and holds my gaze the whole time, like last night isn’t something he’s embarrassed about or already trying to take back. Some of the tightness in my chest loosens, even if I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I get about three seconds to enjoy the moment before the connector door bangs open again and familiar voices drift down the corridor.

Mads’s smile fades into something more careful, and by the time the voices reach our compartment, we’re both looking toward the corridor instead of at each other.

Roman appears first, already dressed, his team jacket zipped halfway. Sam is right behind him, his hair wet at the edges like he stuck his head in the sink and considered the job done.

They slow when they reach our compartment, then stop in the doorway.

“Morning, guys,” Roman says, then freezes.

His gaze moves over the broken vent, the snow on the floor, and Mads and me sitting there in the middle of it all. His eyebrows lift before his face goes carefully blank.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Yup,” we say in unison.

Sam has no such restraint. His gaze jumps from the vent to Mads, then lands on me like I’m the only reliable witness in the room.

“What the fuck happened in here?” he says. “Did you two fight? Did Mads try to throw you off the train through that tiny fucking vent, Rodriguez? Because if so, I’m on your side, but I also want details.”

“The vent broke,” Mads says, deadpan.

Sam looks at him. “Broke?”

“Yep.”

“As in, by itself?” Sam asks, stepping into the compartment to inspect it.

“Norwegian engineering,” Mads says with a shrug. “What can you do?”

While Sam is busy squinting at the vent, I catch Roman’s gaze. It sweeps over the compartment, drops briefly to Mads’s hoodie still lying on my bunk, then moves back to Mads and finally to me.

For one terrifying second, his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile, and I swear he knows exactly what happened last night.

I brace for him to say it out loud.