Page 95 of Shades of Grey & Gold

“Already doing it.” Nico observes my reaction like he always does. “She doesn’t know?”

“No.”

He nods slowly. He doesn’t tell me she should know. He understands—probably better than anyone—the math of this. If she knows, that would change the way she moves through her days, and the way she moves through her days right now is one of the best things in the world I’ve seen.

She walks through campus with her head up and her bag over one shoulder and she tips her face up to the sun when it’s out. She gets her coffee from the place on the corner that she prefers to the closer one because the barista remembers her name. She finally doesn’t think twice about Gio or Rudi being a few paces behind her.

I will destroy anything that tries to take that from her.

Or take her from me.

“There’s a specific plan,” Nico’s voice is cold as he says the words slowly.

My eyes find his faster and with more precision than I’ve ever looked at someone in my life as I sit up stick straight.

“In between her classes on Tuesdays. They’ve been watching the timing.” His voice is very controlled. “We got a tip this morning.”

The silence in the room is eclipsing.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Or next week. Depending on the weather.” He doesn’t elaborate. He knows I understand what depending on the weather means when it’s the kind of plan that requires a degree of foot traffic for cover.

I stand up in an attempt to, again, quell the nearly uncontrollable anger searing through me.

I reach for the jacket on the back of the chair, and I think with absolute clarity about what happens next.

I think about the folder.

I think about tomorrow’s weather.

I think about Max’s route and her Evidence class on Tuesdays and the morning light on her face when she tips her head back.

Nico stands too. He’s been reading me since before I knew I was readable.

“Cal…”

But his words don’t register.

I’m already moving.

“Cal.” He steps in front of me.

He puts a hand on my chest. He is one of approximately five people in the world that would make me stop, and he knows it.

Nico’s just a couple inches shorter than me, and we could be twins from behind, his hair just slightly lighter. But from the front, he’s clean shaven, and has dimples when he smiles, which is too often for my liking, but right now, his expression is blank.

“Letmego.”

“Move, Nico.”

“Listen to me.” His hand stays where it is. His voice is low and certain. “You go out there like this and you lose yourself. I know you—I saw it happen last time. Everything you’ve been trying to build, everything you told those men about doing things differently after Dad died—you go out there like this and it’s gone.” He holds my eyes. “Letmego. I’ll handle it. You stay. Then, when she comes home, you’re there for her. Your hands are clean. That’s how this works now.”

I look at him for a long moment before I respond.

“Go.”

He turns without a word at the order and is out the door.