Page 82 of Cold Mercy

I sigh, defeated. “Fine,” I look out at the street. “When I was sixteen... I got my first job. Every paycheck, I'd bring Zayn here after his school let out. He was twelve. I did it to keep us out longer. A later return to our father always worked in our favor, buying us a few more hours of peace.”

Sophia reaches out, covering my hand with hers. “You're a good brother, Thomas,” she says softly.

I pull my hand back, pointing my fork at her accusingly. “Hey. If you give me those pity eyes, I'm never telling you anything again,” I try to brush it off, acting like I'm untouchable.

She holds up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, fine. Where is he now? I'd like to meet the other Reed. I wonder if he's as stubborn as you.”

My chest tightens. Right, I forgot. There is only Zayn Collins, not Zayn Reed.

“I don't know,” I say, my voice flat. “I don't really want to know. The last time I saw him was years ago.”

I know exactly where he is. Rubbing shoulders with the very same dregs of society I hunt for a living.

Her expression drops again, those sad, empathetic eyes returning. “I'm sorry about that, Thomas.”

I snatch the cake box, pulling it onto my lap and shielding it from her. “Oh no. Pity eyes again. No more stories, and no more cake for you.”

Her mouth drops open in shock, and she tries to stab at the cake with her fork, but I pull it away, eating a bite myself. “Nope. Gone. Forbidden.”

“Hey! That is not fair!” she protests, lunging again. She manages to spear a piece of caramel-covered sponge, but just as she lifts it to her mouth, it falls off the fork and lands on the pavement with a sad splat.

I stare at the fallen cake. I look at her. She looks at me, horrified, and I giggle. Actually giggle.

She gasps, trying to look stern. “Oh, excuse me. Someone knows how to giggle.”

I stop immediately, composing my face into a mask of stone. “Who? You're hallucinating. I don't giggle.”

She laughs, bright and loud. “Okay, okay. Give me the cake back.”

I place the box back between us. She takes a bite, savoring it, and then looks at me with a strange, soft expression.

“Oh! Si tu pouvais lire dans mon cœur, tu verrais la place où je t’ai mise!” she says, French spilling from her lips like liquid silk.

God, I could listen to her recite the tax code and find it riveting. I have absolutely no idea what she just said. She could be creatively telling me to go to hell, and with a voice like that, I’d probably thank her for the insult.

I blink. “What did you say?”

She grins, looking pleased with herself. “Phew. Good to know you're not good at everything and you don't understand everything.”

I stand up, looming over her while she sits on the bench, looking up at me with mischief in her eyes. “Hey. What did you say? I don't know French.”

She wipes a smudge of caramel from the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “I said...” She pauses for dramatic effect. “That you're surprisingly nice for such a jerk.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Okay, I don't believe you. Grab the cake. It's dangerous to sit anywhere with you; you drag weird confessions out of people.”

She laughs again, grabbing the box and standing up with a bounce in her step.

CHAPTER 17

SOPHIA

I spent the morning in the city, forcing myself back into the office I’d avoided for months, maybe more. I knew at some point I had to show my face again, prove I still existed, and let people see I wasn’t a ghost orbiting the memory of a man who never really was mine. I used to work in those halls beside Noah every day, but after everything I learned, even the walls feel different now.

Still, I managed, and to my surprise, it felt…okay. Almost human. It’s ridiculous, but a part of me knows exactly why I’m able to function again. Thomas Reed slipped under my skin so quietly that I didn’t notice when he became the reason I could walk into a room without feeling like I was dragging a tombstone behind me.

I’ve run out of excuses to pretend he doesn’t affect me. My mind protests every time I let myself breathe near him, but my body, my heart…reacts to him like it finally recognizes its rhythm. I can’t name this feeling, don’t know if I should. But I do know he pulled me out of a darkness I’d started calling home.

Today, he didn’t send a morning fact. After months of consistency that bordered on devotion, the silence felt sharp, like something was missing from a routine I wasn’t supposed to care about. Before leaving for the city, I texted him, asking if he was upset, and he didn’t answer. Maybe he’s waiting for me to reach out again. Potentially he wants to know where he stands…again. He’s a grown man, and he won’t chase me around forever like some ridiculous game of cat and mouse.