Drafting a message together had a curious effect. The intimacy of devising a shared defense created a temporary alignment. Angel’s eyes met mine more than once without malice; there was a tacit recognition that the enemy might be external, and that private politics had to be shelved in the service of the house. For a moment, the three of us looked like a unit—odd and uneasy, but pragmatic.
Later, alone with Conley in the dark, the brittle edge of my nerves trembled loose. He was tired—lean in a way I should have loved—and he drew me into him with all the authority that had protected me so many times. He kissed me like a man offering both apology and ownership, as if to say I will keep you whole and you are mine in the same breath.
But the sensation tonight was different. The threat had c
