An abrupt knock on the door startled Isla upright, the sheets sliding from her bare skin. Damien was sitting up next to her, his face immediately hardening, as if the armor he’d shed in the last several hours had fastened back into position.
“Damien,” Gabriel called through the door, terse.
“We’ve got a situation. You need to see this. Now.”
Damien’s jaw clenched. “Give me five.”
“No time,” Gabriel snapped.
“This is about Antonov.”
That drew a curse out of Damien’s throat. He rolled out of bed, his hand simultaneously pulling for the black shirt halfway dropping from the floor.
Isla pulled the surrounding blanket, her heart racing, not only from the disorientation of the sudden shift… but the leftover, frayed—wreckage of what had just passed between them.
Their eyes met. No word
