Page 160 of Harbinger

You can’t have it both ways.

I wrap the towel around myself as my feet carry me back to the infirmary, not the steam. I knock on the open door, already backing up a few steps as if distance can protect me from making a mistake.

I should just walk away, but Bishop turns to me, his attention on an open file in his hands. His eyes lift, freezing on my towel. I clutch it closed, trying to keep it high enough to shield the raven-mark on my chest as his gaze travels slowly over my collarbone, up my neck, to finally meet mine.

Run.

It’s safer.

But I don’t want to—not this time.

This time, I’m exactly where I want to be.

But my chest tightens, my ribs stretching to accommodate the ache slowly building beneath them.

This isn’t how I survive.

This is how beautiful, desperate mistakes are made. Ones that can’t be undone.

But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe crossing the line isn’t a weakness. Because this is taking more strength than I have.

The question claws up my throat anyway. I blurt it out before it rips me apart. “Will you join me?”

His breath deepens with concentration, his chest rising and falling in heavy deliberation as if he’s willing his heart to slow. But then something shifts, the lines of his face hardening, his eyes fading somewhere distant as he locks whatever he’s feeling away.

But it was there. If only for a moment.

“When was the last time you used the baths?” I ask quickly, walking back my invitation before he thinks I’m throwing myself at him again.

That’s exactly what you were doing.

I shove the thought into the pit of embarrassment that’s growing by the moment. “I assume you don’t because of your vestiges …”

Now I’m just rambling.

Mercifully, he takes pity on me. “It’s been … a while,” he admits.

“Since you became immortal?” I guess.

A muscle works in his stubbled jaw. I can’t stand the idea of him here alone when he could relax—something he never does. He needs this as much as I do, but he shakes his head, closing the folder in his hands like the discussion is over. “I did this for you, so you could feel safe.”

Something twinges deep inside me and settles in a place the training has never touched. “We’re both adults,” I say softly, “and you’ve already seen … my mark.”

He glances at the desk, his eyes shutting for a split second before he waves off the invitation. “I’ll be in here if you need me. I’ll make certain you aren’t disturbed.”

Alone. Supervised. Trust Bishop to find a way to give me both. He’ll guard the door but never cross the threshold himself. Always drawing the same line.

And suddenly the distance between us hurts too much to bear.

I start to leave but can’t stop myself from whispering, “I always feel safe with you.”

The words are barely out of my mouth before I wish I could drag them back. I’m not sure if he even heard me, and I’m too big of a coward to check. Heat floods my face, the confession chasing me toward the baths—where I must now resist the urge to drown myself, so I never have to look him in the eyes again.

Why in all seven hells did I say that to him?

I should have let the moment pass. Or laughed it off like it was a joke. Anything that might have kept the careful balance between us intact. That might have reminded both of us that we’re only training partners and reluctant allies, nothing more.

I swear I hear the stillness stretching behind me. He doesn’t speak or follow me.