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1049 Words
She didn’t hear him come in.
She felt him.
Miles.
Heat before sound. Energy before movement.
“You planning on sleeping at all,” he drawled from the doorway, “or is this your version of fun?”
Salem didn’t look up. “If I wanted commentary, I’d ask for it.”
“Didn’t answer the question.”
“Didn’t ask for one.”
He laughed under his breath and stepped inside.
Closer.
Too close.
Salem’s fingers didn’t falter—but her awareness shifted, sharp and immediate.
Miles leaned a hand on the desk beside her, bracketing her in without quite touching. “You’ve been at this for hours.”
“I’ve been here long enough to know your system has more holes than structure,” she replied.
“Careful,” he said lightly. “That almost sounded like an insult.”
“It wasn’t almost.”
That got a grin out of him.
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes tracking her hands, her focus, the tension in her shoulders. “You’re definitely not like anyone we’ve brought in before.”
“Good,” Salem said. “Because if you had, I wouldn’t be needed.”
Miles’ gaze flicked to her face.
She still hadn’t looked at him.
That seemed to interest him more.
“Most people look at me when I’m talking to them.”
“Most people are easily distracted.”
His grin sharpened. “You’re not?”
Finally, Salem glanced up.
And just like that—
Too close.
Miles didn’t move back.
Didn’t even try.
His eyes held hers, something deeper settling beneath the teasing.
“Not by things that don’t matter,” she said.
A beat passed.
Something in his expression shifted—less playful, more intent.
“Careful,” he said quietly. “You might hurt my feelings.”
Salem held his gaze a second longer than necessary.
Then she turned back to the screen.
“Unlikely.”
Miles huffed a laugh—but he didn’t step away.
⸻
“Find anything?”
River’s voice cut through the tension before it could settle too deeply.
Salem didn’t turn this time. “Pattern inconsistency,” she said, pulling up a new set of logs. “It’s not random access.”
River moved to her other side—quieter than Miles, but no less present.
Now she was boxed in.
Again.
Two different kinds of pressure.
Miles—heat, chaos, distraction.
River—stillness, focus, weight.
Salem’s grip tightened slightly on the edge of the desk.
“Show me,” River said.
She angled the screen, forcing herself to focus on the data instead of the proximity.
“See this?” she pointed. “Entry points rotate—but the timing doesn’t. It’s consistent.”
River leaned in closer to look.
Close enough that his shoulder brushed hers.
Light.
Barely there.
Still—
Salem stilled.
Not visibly.
But enough that she noticed it.
River didn’t comment.
Didn’t pull away either.
“Someone with access,” he said.
“Yes,” Salem replied. “But not just access. Familiarity.”
Miles shifted behind her, close enough now that she could feel the heat at her back.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Salem said, voice steady despite the sudden awareness crawling up her spine, “they know how you respond. How you think.”
River’s gaze slid to her. “You figured that out quickly.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Silence settled again.
Not empty this time.
Charged.
Miles leaned in just slightly, his voice lower near her ear. “You always this confident?”
Salem didn’t turn—but her breath caught, just for a second.
“Only when I’m right.”
Miles’ hand landed on the desk beside hers.
Close.
Not touching.
Close enough to notice.
“Dangerous habit,” he murmured.
Salem finally turned her head—
And nearly collided with him.
Too close.
Again.
Her pulse kicked—hard, sudden.
Miles didn’t move.
Didn’t break eye contact.
“Back up,” she said quietly.
“Or what?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened.
River stepped in then—not between them, but close enough that the balance shifted.
“That’s enough,” he said calmly.
Miles huffed, but eased back half a step.
Not far.
Never far.
Salem straightened, dragging in a slow breath and forcing her focus back where it belonged.
“Food should be here soon,” she said abruptly, more to break the tension than anything else.
Miles blinked. “You ordered food?”
“No,” she said. “Rhea did.”
He smirked. “Smart woman.”
“She thinks I forget to take care of myself.”
River’s voice was quieter when he spoke. “Do you?”
Salem didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she picked up her coffee and took another sip.
“Not relevant,” she said finally.
River didn’t push.
But the look he gave her said he wasn’t convinced.
⸻
A knock at the outer door broke the moment.
Miles pushed off the desk. “That’ll be your food.”
“I can get it,” Salem said.
“You could,” he agreed. “Or you could keep working.”
She hesitated.
Then nodded once. “Bring it here.”
Miles’ grin flashed. “Bossy.”
Salem didn’t look up. “Efficient.”
He laughed and headed out.
River stayed.
Of course he did.
The silence between them settled differently now.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… aware.
“You push people away on purpose,” he said after a moment.
Salem’s fingers paused over the keyboard.
Then resumed.
“I stay focused on the job.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is for me.”
River studied her.
Long enough that she could feel it.
“You didn’t come here just for the job,” he said.
Her hands stilled again.
This time, she looked at him.
“Careful,” she said quietly. “You’re starting to sound like you know me.”
His expression didn’t change.
“I’m starting to.”
Something in her chest tightened.
Unwanted.
Unfamiliar.
Dangerous.
Salem turned back to the screen, sharper this time.
“No,” she said. “You’re not.”
River didn’t argue.
But he didn’t look away either.
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