Page 200 of Scarlet Wars
Suddenly, there was light again, laughter again, days that didn’t start with pain.
Caden and I slept together almost every night, drawn to each other like gravity had finally found something to anchor itself to.
The early mornings stretched lazily into hours, filled with laughter and quiet conversation, with soft touches and tangled limbs, with the kind of peace that made the rest of the world feel very far away.
Sometimes we talked about everything—our fears, our pasts, the things we’d lost—and other times, we said nothing at all, because the silence between us was its own kind of language.
During the day, we pretended. We trained, went on missions to find out more about the bubble and the Collabs, and moved through the Collective as if nothing had changed, as if the nights hadn’t bound us together in a way neither of us dared name.
We were always careful, stealing glances that didn’t last too long, brushing past each other in hallways when no one was watching, hoping our hearts didn’t give us away.
And then, when the sun went down and the world quieted, we’d read together in one of the libraries, pretending to focus on the pages while the air between us grew heavier with every passing minute, until one of us caved and reached for the other.
It never took long. And before the night was over, we’d end up back in one of our rooms, breathless and undone, losing ourselves again in a beautiful, fragile illusion nothing outside those walls could touch us.
Every night, except for one night a week.
Thursday night.
Cocktail night.
Me, my own room, a Nexus, and a room across the Atlantic full of people whom I loved and missed more than I could ever put into words.
“So how are things at Crown?”
Rocco smiled through the Nexus from the couch in Caden’s study, his legs casually stretched out like he was celebrating his boss’s absence. “Things are good. Saoirse is doing an excellent job as First Offensive. Honestly, I think Caden will have a hard time reclaiming his job.”
I grinned. “I’m sure he will. How’s his Scotch, by the way?”
Rocco’s gaze flicked down to the glass in his hand—Caden’s crystal tumbler, no less—then back up to me, his expression shifting toward mild panic. “Please don’t rat me out.”
Oh, this could be fun.
I leaned back slightly, lips curling into a slow smile. “Hmm. What are you willing to do for me to keep your secret?”
Rocco’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
My smile widened. “Wouldn’t I?”
Before he could retaliate, a knock at my door cut through the conversation.
Without waiting for an invitation, Sean appeared. His blond hair was slightly tousled, a mischievous glint in his expression that meant trouble. “I heard there were cocktails,” he said, flashing a grin.
I smiled, nodded, and motioned for him to sit next to me on the bed. I translated him my favorite Moscow mule with a twist—a skill I’d perfected almost to an art form—and handed it to him.
Sean’s brows lifted as he took the glass. “Now we’re talkin’,” he murmured, taking a sip.
“Hi, mate,” Sean said, raising his glass toward the projected Rocco. “How’re ye doin’?”
Rocco downed his Scotch before answering. “Great, to be honest. Glad this fucker’s back.” He grabbed Emile by the shoulders, his smile wide.
Emile smiled faintly, the joy not yet completely returned to his expression, but it was better than the hollow look he’d worn last time we’d nexed.
“Barely been back a month, and he’s already annoying as hell,” Rocco teased.
Emile’s smile widened slightly. “And yet you missed me.”
Rocco made a face. “I deny everything.”
