The museum attack made every news channel by midnight.

Cross Holdings called it an isolated incident. Police called it an attempted robbery. The Vipers called twice and said nothing.

Leander called a security meeting.

I listened from inside the wall.

His office ventilation shaft was narrow, dusty, and beneath my dignity. It also carried sound.

"Kane denied the order," a man said. Deep voice. Adrian Cross, Leander's uncle and head of freight operations.

"Kane lies when he breathes," Celeste answered.

"The shooter had a Viper tattoo," Leander said. "He also knew our guest list."

Paper shifted.

"Internal leak," Celeste said.

"Or bait," Adrian replied. "The new boy reacts like trained security."

New boy.

I smiled into the dust.

"Rowan is not under discussion," Leander said.

"He became the discussion when you put him on your arm."

The temperature in his voice dropped. "Careful."

No one spoke.

Footsteps approached the wall.

I slid backward, reached the maintenance hatch, and dropped into the linen closet one second before Leander opened it.

He found me holding a towel.

"Laundry emergency?" he asked.

"Your towels are emotionally neglected."

He looked at the open vent behind me.

"I could have you searched."

"Dinner first."

"You heard?"

"Your uncle dislikes me."

"Adrian dislikes variables."

"I'm charming."

"You broke a bottle over a man's hand."

"He interrupted our kiss."

Leander's face changed.

The museum kiss had been camouflage. We both knew it. His mouth had opened beneath mine anyway, one startled breath turning into something hot and unfinished before the gunshot.

He stepped into the closet.

The door eased shut behind him.

"Was that the only reason?" he asked.

My back touched the shelf.

"For the bottle?"

"For the kiss."

His tie hung loose. A faint cut marked his cheek where the statue had shattered.

I lifted my hand.

He did not flinch when my thumb brushed the cut.

"You were standing in the wrong place," I said.

"And now?"

"Still standing in the wrong place."

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

Mrs. Alvarez opened the door.

We separated so quickly a stack of towels fell.

She looked at them on the floor.

"Tragic," she said. "After all Mr. Hale's work."

At dinner, Leander received three calls and ignored them.

I found a peppermint beside my plate.

"You keep those around?" I asked.

"Recently."

"Why?"

He took a drink. "I like them."

He was lying.

I pocketed the candy.

Days settled into a strange rhythm.

The tailor came on Tuesday.

He brought six suits, twelve shirts, and a measuring tape he wielded like a threat. Leander worked at the dining table while the man pinned dark fabric around my waist.

"Arms up," the tailor said.

I lifted them.

Two shoulder holsters became visible.

The tailor did not blink.

Leander looked over his glasses. "I said out of sight."

"They were."

"Until you lifted your arms."

"I avoid surrender."

The tailor marked the jacket. "I can add room."

"You see?" I said. "A professional."

When he left, Leander carried one garment bag upstairs. I followed him into my room.

"Blue," he said.

"I own black."

"You own fourteen versions of black."

"They have functions."

"One has a bullet hole."

"Ventilation."

He held the jacket against my shoulders. The blue matched the thin winter light outside.

His knuckles brushed my throat.

The room went quiet.

"Why this color?" I asked.

"You wore it once at St. Vincent's."

"We had donated clothes."

"It was too large. You rolled the sleeves four times."

I remembered the sweater only after he described it. I had given it to a smaller boy before spring.

"You remember too much."

"Only one thing."

His gaze moved over my face.

I took the jacket from him.

"That line probably works on people."

"Did it work on you?"

I hung the jacket in the closet, buying time.

"The museum fundraiser," I said. "What am I meant to do?"

"Stand beside me. Speak when you want. Leave if you choose."

"Smile?"

"Optional."

"Public affection?"

"Only what you initiate."

The contract permitted far more.

Leander had written it to claim access, then arranged every real moment to give it back.

I looked at the blue jacket.

"You can touch my back when we enter."

His breath shifted.

"For appearances?"

"Try not to become emotional."

"Impossible around tailoring."

I threw a pillow at him.

He caught it with one hand and smiled.

The sight unsettled me more than any weapon in the house.

Leander worked. I read, exercised, and mapped his enemies. At noon, I cooked noodles badly enough that Mrs. Alvarez banned me from the stove. At night, I waited for the sound of his car.

One Thursday, he returned early and found me crouched behind the kitchen island.

"Should I ask?"

"No."

His gaze moved past me to the cushion. A corner of the chip bag stuck out beneath it.

"Thoughtful," he said.

"I'm naturally nurturing."

"What do you do here all day?"

"Read. Exercise. Practice piano."

His attention sharpened. "Play for me."

I looked toward the staircase.

He did too.

There was a grand piano on the second floor, gleaming beneath the windows like a trap with eighty-eight teeth.

"Now?"

"You said you practiced."

Lying during an extraction had never bothered me. Lying to Leander while he watched my face felt reckless.

I went upstairs anyway.

I knew exactly one piece.

Calling it a piece was generous. Years earlier, I had learned twelve measures of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" to approach a target at a charity recital. Half of those measures had escaped me.

Leander stood beside the piano while I committed crimes against music.

The final note died.

"Well," I said. "The important thing is confidence."

He did not laugh.

Late-afternoon light softened the hard line of his face. The look he gave me held no mockery, no calculation. It was too open for a man who had built an empire out of guarded doors.

"Play it again," he said.

"You have enemies. I could send them recordings."

"Rowan."

The way he said my name stopped the joke.

He leaned down, one hand resting on the piano above my shoulder. "I liked it."

"Your standards are collapsing."

"Only where you're concerned."

His gaze touched my mouth, then returned to my eyes. He waited.

That pause changed everything.

I could have moved away.

Instead, I caught the front of his shirt and closed the last inch.

The kiss began carefully. Leander stayed still until my fingers tightened. Then his hand came to the back of my neck, warm and steady, and the whole room narrowed to breath, cedar, and one low sound he failed to swallow.

I broke away first.

"This wasn't in the agreement."

"We can amend it."

"I'll have my lawyer call yours."

His thumb traced the edge of my jaw. "You don't have a lawyer."

"I know a man who owns three passports and a flamethrower."

"Luca?"

My hand dropped.

Leander smiled.

He knew more about me than a wealthy stranger should.

I stood. "How do you know Luca?"

"He has an arrest record."

"Under which name?"

The smile disappeared.

My phone vibrated.

LUCA: Prague client was a shell. Money traces to Cross Holdings.

I turned the screen facedown.

Leander saw the movement.

"Something wrong?"

Below us, a window exploded.

I pulled him behind the piano as a second round punched through the wall.

The instrument screamed.

One broken key gave a thin, dying note.

Leander reached beneath his jacket and drew a pistol.

Our eyes met over the polished black wood.

Neither of us looked surprised.