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“Bingo.” I gave him a stupid finger gun.

His gaze lifted to mine. “You’re deciding how angry you’re allowed to be because part of you likes him.”

The words hit bone.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.” Kalon sat back, the chair creaking beneath him. “I won’t tell you what to feel. Wanting him doesn’t make this acceptable.”

“I know.”

He reached across the table and stopped halfway.

I placed my hand in his.

His fingers closed around mine, warm and careful. My eyes burned before I managed to swallow past the pressure in my throat.

“You can want the monster,” he said. “Just make him come to the door like a man.”

The cameras remained between us. I thought about roses, notes, and a masked voice speaking through the dark. Then, I thought about Kalon standing in the hallway until I invited him inside.

A sensible woman would choose this. She would choose the man who asked before locking her door.

“Kalon.”

His thumb stopped against my knuckles.

I stood and he followed. He towered over me, six foot six and broad, yet his every movement around me remained careful.

I stepped nearer. His eyes dropped to my mouth.

“If you want me to leave,” he said, “tell me.”

My fingers curled into his shirt. “I don’t know what I want.”

I rose onto my toes. Kalon lowered his head enough to meet me if I chose to close the remaining space.

For one clean second, I almost kissed him.

I almost chose warmth, because warmth had manners, and the dark kept breaking into my apartment.

A tear slipped down my face before I reached him. I wiped it away, furious with myself.

“Nope. Absolutely not. I refuse to cry over surveillance equipment. That’s humiliating.”

Kalon’s hand settled against my cheek. “You’re crying because someone took your home from you.”

I tried to argue, but nothing came out.

My apartment had always been cramped, cluttered, and mine. Now, every private habit felt exposed. He might have watched me collapse on the kitchen floor after work, trip over dirty clothes, reread page 243, or sleep beneath a blanket announcing my literary preferences to anyone with basic reading comprehension.

I felt naked.

My fingers tightened around Kalon’s wrist. “I feel stupid.”

“You’re not.”

“I encouraged him. I liked the roses. I wanted the notes and the games because they felt safe when they belonged inside books.”