Chapter 51

Amelia

I woke to the low hum of the heater in the cabin, stale air heavy with the scent of old pine and last night’s unspoken words. Richard was already up, standing by the window with a stiff back, staring out into the grey morning. When I sat up, the thin blanket pooled at my waist, and our eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked away. Without a word, he picked up two paper cups from the table and held one out to me.

My exact order. He remembered every detail down to the steamed milk. He didn’t say anything as I took it from his hand, our fingers brushing too long to be accidental. "Peace offering," he muttered finally, voice so low it almost wasn't there.

I stared at the steam curling up between us, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. Instead, I sipped, letting the cinnamon and oat milk burn my tongue. It was perfect. Of course it was. He watched me drink like he was memorizing every reaction.

I lowered it slowly. "You think coffee is going to fix this?"

He exhaled hard, jaw ticking. "It’s a start."

I didn’t answer right away. The silence wrapped around us like insulation, but it wasn’t warm. I traced a finger over the cracked table. "We can’t keep doing this, Richard."

"Doing what?"

I forced myself to look at him. "Crossing lines. Pretending they don’t exist."

He turned away so sharply his coat flared. "It’s too late for that."

I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe. "We can’t blur things anymore. Not here. Not now."

He didn’t respond, but his shoulders slumped, and the line of his jaw softened just enough to make my heart twist. We finished getting ready in silence, avoiding brushing against each other in the tiny space, and left for the facility without another word.

When we arrived, I stared at the huge concrete structure ahead. It was brutalist, with guard towers and barbed fencing, all harsh lines designed to intimidate. I crossed my arms.

"This is awful. Why would you make it look so terrifying?"

Richard glanced at me, jaw tight. "It's meant to look imposing. So no one wants to try us."

I shook my head. "That's not preventing war, that's inviting it."

He sighed. "Amelia, political tensions are rising. Sometimes prevention means making sure you're so well-defended no one dares attack."

I frowned. "So we're here to scare people?"

He looked tired. "We're here so you see what readiness looks like. Sometimes war is unavoidable. I need you to understand why we train them this way."

I scoffed but fell quiet, following him down toward the recruits.

Not five minutes after we got there, he was barking orders at recruits, face dark with frustration. The wind whipped at his coat. An officer tried to keep pace with the commands, but even he looked uneasy.

I stood to the side with my clipboard, watching as one of the recruits, a thin girl who was new to the unit, stumbled on loose gravel and fell hard. She yelped and scrambled to her feet. Richard was on her in an instant.

"Again," he snapped.

She trembled. "Yes, sir."

"Again!" he roared. She tried. She fell. He moved closer, voice dropping to a growl that made even me flinch. "You think the enemy will care if you’re tired? If you’re weak? Pathetic. You want your team dead because of you?"

She shook violently. "N-no, sir."

"Then get up."

My blood boiled. "That’s enough, Richard."

Silence. Dead, suffocating silence. All eyes swung to me. His did too, slow, lethal. "Excuse me?"

I clenched the clipboard so hard it creaked. "They’re recruits, Richard. They’re trying. You’re not teaching them anything like this."

He stalked toward me, each boot crunch deliberate. "You want to run this drill, Amelia?"

"No. I want you to stop scaring them into failure."

He stopped close enough that the world narrowed to his breath and the cold fire in his eyes. "We don’t have time for soft lessons."

My voice shook with rage. "Humiliating them isn’t training them. You’re not making them stronger. You’re making them terrified."

His eyes burned. His nostrils flared. For one moment, I thought he’d shout. Instead, he turned to the officer, voice like ice. "Wrap it up."

He walked away without looking back.

I didn’t speak to him the rest of the day. I buried myself in reports, briefings, anything that would keep me away from his gravity. But it didn’t work. The memory of his eyes on mine wouldn’t fade. When night fell, I found myself outside his temporary field office, fist hovering before I knocked. I wanted to leave. I didn’t.

I pushed the door open. Candles were the only light, throwing his face into stark relief. Papers, maps, schedules littered the table. He didn’t look up.

"If you’re here to fight again, save it."

I set my folder down harder than I meant to. "We’re behind schedule."

He finally lifted his gaze. Exhaustion etched in every line of his face. "You’re not my assistant."

"Tonight I am."

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Don’t do this."

I crossed my arms. "Do what? Work? Plan so the rest of us don’t die?"

He slammed a hand on the table. Maps rustled. "Stop pretending this is about work."

The words punched air from my lungs. I shook my head. "We can’t keep blurring it. Not when everything depends on us doing our jobs."

He leaned forward, hands splayed, voice low and guttural. "It’s already blurred. Don’t you see that? Don’t you feel it?"

My breath hitched. "It can’t be. We can’t be."

He barked a laugh that cracked. "You keep saying that, but here you are."

"Because if we don’t plan this out tonight, people might die tomorrow!"

His chest heaved. "Say it’s not about us. Look me in the eye and lie."

I swallowed. My mouth opened and no words came out. His eyes flicked to my lips. My heart pounded. The room felt too hot. I wanted to scream or run or—

He stood, slowly, deliberately. I matched him, refusing to back down even as the shadows wrapped around us. The table between us felt insurmountable and paper-thin at once. He whispered, "This is a bad idea."

"Probably."

His fingers twitched like he’d grab me, pull me across the table. I leaned forward an inch, breath shaking. His eyes softened and burned at the same time. My lips parted. His did too. We were one heartbeat away.

Then his phone buzzed. Loud, jarring, stupid. We both flinched. He grabbed it without looking at me. Shoulders stiff, jaw locked.

I blinked back the burn in my eyes. I wiped them quickly and walked to the facility kitchen to grab us both dinner. When I came back and opened the door, I hesitated before saying, "Why is it always just candles in here?"

He looked up, eyes tired, and rubbed his temple. "The overhead lights give me a headache," he admitted.

I held out the plate. "I brought you dinner." He took it with a muttered thanks. We sat across from each other.

I poked at my food. "Richard...why do we keep doing this?"

He sighed. "Because even with all this tension, we still work better together than anyone else."

My stomach twisted. We fell quiet, chewing slowly, watching each other with guarded eyes. After a moment, I pushed back my chair.

"I'm going to bed early. I don't want to be awake when you get back to the cabin."

He didn't stop me.

The corridor outside was cold. My feet moved on their own, carrying me away. When I finally reached the room, I slumped onto the bed and buried my face in my hands. My phone buzzed against my hip.

Emma: Rumor mill’s insane. Officer says they saw you two fighting. That you had dinner alone. That you’re sleeping in his cabin.

You okay?

My fingers trembled. I typed back slowly.

No. Not really.