Page 128 of Blades Out
I followed her gaze across the open space. Saw it the way she must be seeing it—vast and sterile and utterly soulless. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, city lights bleeding through glass in cold geometric patterns. The kitchen occupied the left side, all steel and granite and sharp edges. Black leather furniture sat arranged in the living area with military precision. Not a cushion out of place. Not a magazine on the coffee table. Not a single indication that anyone actually lived here.
The walls stretched bare and white. No art. No photographs. No personality. Just expensive emptiness.
I'd designed it this way deliberately. Wanted nothing soft, nothing warm, nothing that invited anyone to stay. Wanted a space that reflected exactly what I was—functional, isolated, stripped of anything that might suggest I deserved comfort.
It looked exactly like what it was. A prison I'd built myself. Too big for one man. Too quiet. Too cold.
I'd never brought anyone here. Not teammates who invited themselves over for drinks. Not women who hinted they'd like to see where I lived. Not even the cleaning service—I handled that myself, kept every surface gleaming, maintained control over the only space that belonged entirely to me.
Until her.
She set her duffel down slowly. The soft thud against hardwood felt obscenely loud in all that silence.
I watched her scan the apartment with those too-careful eyes. Watched her catalog exits, note the locks on the windows, measure distances between furniture like she was already planning escape routes.
My chest tightened. She belonged here even less than I did. This place would swallow her alive—turn her into another piece of expensive emptiness, another controlled surface, another thing I kept at arm's length because getting close meant losing control.
But the alternative was worse.
The alternative was leaving her vulnerable. Alone. Unprotected.
I'd bring her into my sterile prison before I let that happen.
I picked up her duffel before she could reach for it. Her lips parted—protest forming—but I was already moving down the hallway. She followed without arguing, footsteps soft against hardwood.
The master bedroom door stood half-open. I pushed through and set the bag on the bed without thinking. Just moved on autopilot, muscle memory guiding me to the only logical place.
The only bedroom with an en suite bathroom. The only one with blackout curtains. The only one that locked from the inside.
The safest room in the apartment.
She stood in the doorway, frozen.
I turned back and caught her expression—wide eyes, parted lips, confusion mixing with something that might have been panic.
"This is your room," she said quietly.
Statement, not question.
I didn't answer. Just gestured vaguely at the space like it explained itself.
King bed dominated the far wall. Charcoal sheets pulled military-tight. Two pillows. Nightstand with a single lamp and nothing else. Dresser against the opposite wall, every drawer closed. Blackout curtains framing floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.
No photographs. No clutter. No personality. Just like the rest of the apartment.
She moved past me slowly, setting one hand on the mattress edge. Testing it. Her fingers pressed into expensive sheets I'd never let anyone else touch.
Something shifted in my chest.
She unzipped the duffel. Started pulling out clothes with those same careful, practiced movements. Folded shirts went onto the dresser. Toiletries lined up on the nightstand. The worn paperback found a home beside the lamp.
Each item she unpacked felt like a small invasion. Each one settled something restless under my ribs.
I should have felt irritated. Should have felt my space shrinking, my carefully maintained isolation cracking. Should have regretted bringing her here; should have been calculating how quickly I could get her somewhere else, somewhere that didn't blur every boundary I'd spent years reinforcing.
Instead, I stood there watching her claim pieces of my bedroom. Watching her make space for herself in a room designed for solitude. Watching her exist in the one place I'd sworn would stay empty.
And all I felt was possession. Rightness. Something dangerous curling warm and soft beneath my sternum.
