THE ROOM smelled like antiseptic and old leather.
Lily noticed it the moment she stepped inside Ronan’s private office, the one he rarely used now. It was quieter than the rest of the compound, insulated from the noise of men moving, weapons being checked, phones ringing with bad news. This room belonged to a past version of him. One that planned instead of reacted.
Ronan stood by the window, his back to her, hands braced against the glass. He did not turn when he heard her enter.
“You shouldn’t be here alone,” he said.
“I’m not,” Lily replied.
Jeremiah remained just outside the door, visible through the glass wall, close enough to intervene but far enough to give her the space she demanded. Ronan noticed him anyway. He always did.
“Then say what you came to say,” Ronan said. “I won’
