Page 63 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘I know that.’ Kade sits beside him and links their hands.

Riley gives a brief squeeze, looking ahead. ‘Everything’s gonna change.’

‘Are you mad about it?’

‘No, I’m not mad. Do you think I want to keep you here?’

‘I know you want to keep me safe,’ Kade says instead of yes.

Riley looks at him, gives a faint smile. He can tell Kade’s lying but doesn’t seem upset. He untangles their hands and stands up.

‘The damage isn’t bad, but I need your help with Seth.’

Kade stands too. ‘I thought no one died.’

Riley glances towards the stairs. ‘Tanner’s waiting for you.’

They leave the windowless room together and, sure enough, at the bottom of the staircase, Lachlan Tanner is leaning against the bars, covered in dried blood.

‘Kade,’ he says the moment he claps eyes on him. His hands are poised to sign, but Kade beats him to it.

‘I can hear again. Are you OK?’

‘Of course,’ he dismisses impatiently, scanning Kade all over and then shooting Riley a hateful look. ‘He made me wait down here.’

‘I told you he’d be all right,’ Riley says, touching the wall to make the iron bars slide aside. ‘Just needed to rest.’

Lachlan’s hands hover over Kade when they’re standing toe to toe in the Watch. It’s unexpectedly awkward, like he fully intended to hug him and then realised they don’t do that.

Kade sort of wishes they would.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ Lachlan says and takes a step backwards to allow him space. Riley goes over to where Finn is sitting at the console. ‘Are you sure you’re—?’

‘I promise I’m fine,’ Kade tells him, his voice lowered as they linger at the back of the Watch together. ‘What about you?’

‘Me?’

‘You were shot, like, three hundred times.’

Lachlan shrugs, a tiny hint of a teasing smile playing about his lips. ‘Eh.’

‘Eh?’ Kade echoes, can’t help but smile too. ‘That’s it?’

‘I’m tough.’

‘Are you now?’ Kade murmurs. ‘I didn’t notice.’

Lachlan falters, seems briefly pained in a soft way. ‘Kade.’

‘Say his name,’ Kade whispers. ‘Just once?’

They’re close enough to share breath when Lachlan matches the cadence of his whisper, his voice dropped low and hoarse, and says, ‘Jules.’

The name elicits a delicate thrill of something that swirls up the base of his spine and filters into his blood like sugar.

‘I love how you say it.’