Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Something in my chest does that now-familiar lurch.
“Any news?” she asks, nodding toward the tablet.
“Arrow checked in. Dean’s working on cracking whoever posted the bounty. They’re going after Cathedral’s infrastructure, seeing if they can find the handler. We’re still dark until further notice.”
She scrunches her nose. “Define further.”
“If we’re lucky? Days.”
“And if we’re not?”
“Longer.”
She groans and flops onto the couch where I was just sitting, hair flying. “You’re telling me I have to survive out here with no internet, no phone, and just your grumpy face for entertainment?”
“You forgot my winning personality.”
She snorts. “That assumed you had one.”
I grab the blanket that slid off the couch and toss it at her. It lands over her head. She makes a muffled noise of protest, then pops her face out, hair now even worse.
Adorable.
Dangerous.
“How’s Gage?” she asks, like she can’t help it.
“Annoying,” I say automatically.
“Emotionally.”
“He’s fine. Worried about you. Threatened me with violence if I let anything happen to you.”
Her lips curve. “Classic big brother energy.”
The guilt spikes again.
If he knew I had his baby sister half in my lap last night, kissing me like I was oxygen—
Stop.
I drag my mind back to safer ground.
“He also suggested I might be going stir crazy here with you.”
She brightens. “Oh? And are you?”
“Not yet.”
“Liar.” She pushes herself upright, t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. She fails to notice. I notice too much. “Since we’re stuck here,” she says, “I’m making breakfast. You look like you need eggs.”
“We don’t have eggs.”
“Then you get… whatever the canned-goods fairy gifted us.”
“That fairy’s name is Ranger, and he has terrible taste.”
She strides into the kitchen like she owns it, blanket still tangled around her waist like a cape. I follow, because the living room feels worse without her in it.
She rummages in cabinets with cheerful determination.
“Okay,” she narrates. “We’ve got canned potatoes, canned corned beef—oh my God, who hurt him—canned beans, canned fruit cocktail, and… instant pancake mix.”
“Pancake mix?” I echo. “You can’t cook.”
“You don’t know my life.”
“Lark, last time you made toast at Gage’s place you set off the fire alarm.”
“That toaster was faulty.”
“You put a fork in it.”
“I was retrieving the bread!” she protests. “And for the record, I can follow instructions on a box.”
She squints at the back of the pancake mix. “See? Just add water. Even you could do this.”
“I’m very good at adding water.”
“Then we’re a team.”
She pushes the box into my hands, then starts pulling out bowls. I find a measuring cup, read the instructions, and, with the kind of focus I usually reserve for tracking criminal IPs, measure water and mix into the powder.
Lark leans on the counter, chin in her hands, watching me.
“What?” I ask.
“Domestic Knight is my new favorite Knight,” she says. “Look at you. Cabin. Pancakes. Apocalypse this, apocalypse that.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Affectionately.”
I roll my eyes and stir the batter. It’s lumpy, but not catastrophic. The cabin’s frying pan is hanging on a hook above the stove. I grab it, add a little oil from the cabinet, and set it on the burner.
“You know,” Lark muses, “if people could see you right now, the bounty would probably double.”
I arch a brow. “Why?”
“Because no one expects vigilante hacker boy to also be borderline competent at breakfast.”
“Borderline competent is generous.”
She smiles. “I’m a generous girl.”
The words hang between us, and for a second, last night crashes back in.
Her hands on my shoulders.
Her mouth under mine.
The way she pulled back and gave me an out.
That matters more than I want to admit.
I clear my throat, focus on pouring batter circles into the pan. “How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my gaze on the stove. “After last night. The warehouse. The bounty. Not… the other stuff.”
“The other stuff being you finally kissing me?” she says lightly.
My grip tightens on the spatula.
She must read something in my shoulders because her tone softens. “I’m okay,” she says. “Really. Scared in a… aware way, not a paralyzed way. If that makes sense.”
“It does,” I say quietly.
“And about the other stuff…” She trails off. I can feel her eyes on my back. “I told you, Knight. I’m not regretting it. I’m not pretending it didn’t happen. But I also get that this is probably the worst possible timing and you’re trying to keep us both alive.”
I flip the pancakes. They actually look… decent.
“You could say that,” I admit.
“So.” She lets out a breath. “Call it… a bookmark. We put a little note in the page that says, ‘Come back to this once we’re not being hunted by faceless criminals.’”
Despite everything, a faint smile pulls at my mouth. “You and your metaphors.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“I noticed.”
Silence falls for a beat.
It’s not awkward.
Just… charged.
“How bad is it?” she asks. “The bounty. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
I plate the first pancake and slide it onto the counter for her. “High enough that we assume there will be people looking. Not just locals. People willing to travel.”