Sleek. Black. Quiet like a loaded gun.
Emma stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes narrowed, suitcase in hand. Zane was already onboard. He hadn't said much in the car ride. His phone had lit up twice—no names, just encrypted codes—and each time, his jaw had tightened.
Now, standing under the tarmac lights, Emma felt it in her bones:
This wasn't just a trip.
This was war prep.
She stepped aboard. The interior was luxury defined: leather seats, polished oak accents, low golden lighting. But there was no softness in Zane's posture. He sat like a soldier—still, alert, eyes trained on nothing and everything.
She sat across from him.
No words.
Until—
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly.
Emma tilted her head. "We've already had this conversation."
"I know. But I still had to say it again."
She leaned back in her seat. "You're nervous."
He looked over at her, eyebrows raised. "I don't do nervous."
Emma smirked. "Then you're doing a very good impression of it."
Zane exhaled through his nose. "Logan doesn't threaten unless he's ready to make a move. If he's waiting in Zurich, he's not coming for me—he's coming for the one variable I can't control."
Her gaze didn't waver. "Me."
"Exactly."
Emma's eyes hardened. "I'm not a liability. I'm an asset. Start treating me like one."
Zane nodded slowly. "I'm trying."
The jet engines hummed to life. A low, distant rumble that filled the silence between them.
Emma looked out the window as the city lights faded. "Tell me something real."
Zane blinked. "Now?"
"Now."
He stared at her, then said:
"I've never brought anyone into this world before. Not like this. Not on purpose."
Emma turned her gaze back to him. "That's not fear, Zane. That's evolution."
A pause.
Then his voice dropped. "You're not what I expected."
Her lips curved. "And you're not as heartless as you pretend."
He didn't deny it.
The jet rose higher. Darkness swallowed the sky. But inside the cabin, the air was warm. Close.
Tense.
Electric.
Emma leaned forward. "What's the plan once we land?"
Zane's expression shifted back to business. "Hotel first. We check in separately. No patterns. You'll have a burner phone. At 10 a.m., we meet with the Sable Group—publicly. But Logan won't approach us there."
"Too many eyes?"
"Exactly. He'll wait until we're alone."
Emma nodded. "Then let's make sure we never are."
Zane looked at her a long moment.
Then: "Emma."
"Yes?"
"If anything goes wrong—"
"It won't."
"But if it does… don't wait for me. Get out. Run."
She didn't blink.
"Zane?"
"Yes?"
"If you die, I swear I'll resurrect you just to kill you again for saying that."
His mouth twitched. "Understood."
The cabin dimmed automatically. Soft golden lights cast a glow across the space, making it feel more like a luxury hotel suite than a flying fortress.
Emma unbuckled her seatbelt and stood, stretching slowly. She walked toward the back, toward the private lounge section. Zane followed a few steps behind, eyes locked on her.
She could feel the heat of his gaze — not just desire, but something heavier. Need. Tension. Restraint.
She stopped and turned to him. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't."
"Why?"
He hesitated. "Because when I close my eyes, I imagine what Logan might do."
Emma nodded once. "And when I close mine, I imagine what you might run from."
He blinked, caught off guard.
"I'm not running," he said.
She stepped closer. "Not physically. But every time it gets real between us, I feel you pull back. Like you're bracing for impact."
Zane didn't answer right away.
Instead, he stepped even closer. Now they were inches apart.
"I'm not used to… this," he said.
"This?" she asked.
"This not being in control."
Emma reached up, her fingers gently touching the collar of his shirt. "Then maybe it's time you learn."
Zane's breath caught.
She undid the top button.
Then the next.
Not fast. Not seductive.
Just calm. Intentional.
Zane didn't move. His hands stayed clenched at his sides. His jaw tight.
"You're not scared of Logan," Emma whispered. "You're scared of me."
He exhaled, slow. "Terrified."
Emma leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "Good."
She stepped back, eyes locked on his.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said softly. "If you decide to join me… don't bring your armor."
Then she turned and disappeared behind the sliding door.
Zane stood there for several seconds, frozen.
His body wanted to follow.
His mind screamed caution.
But his heart—what little part of it he hadn't silenced—ached.
And that was the most dangerous signal of all.
The sound of water echoed faintly from the private ensuite at the back of the jet. Steam curled beneath the door.
Zane stood there for another ten seconds.
Then he moved.
He took off his watch first. Then his jacket. His shirt followed, each motion deliberate. He wasn't thinking like a strategist now. He was moving like a man who was tired of resisting something that had already claimed him.
He slid the door open.
Steam enveloped him instantly — thick, warm, scented faintly with jasmine and leather. Emma stood beneath the rainfall shower, head tilted back, eyes closed, water gliding over her skin like silk.
She didn't flinch.
She just opened her eyes and looked at him.
Zane stepped in without a word.
They stood for a moment, facing each other, water cascading between them like a curtain neither wanted to pull back too fast.
Then Emma moved first.
Her hand reached for his.
Fingers laced. A silent promise.
Zane leaned in, their foreheads touching. Eyes closed. No rush. No need for dominance or defense.
Just breath.
Connection.
He spoke softly, barely above the sound of the water. "I don't know how to do this."
Emma whispered back, "Neither do I. But I'd rather figure it out with you than without you."
His lips found hers—not hungry, not fierce, but slow. Intimate. Like a man drinking something he never thought he'd be allowed to taste.
And Emma kissed him back like she was anchoring him to the moment.
Their bodies came together, wet skin against wet skin, but what passed between them wasn't just desire. It was release. Vulnerability. A surrender to something neither of them fully understood—but both chose to explore anyway.
Later, as they lay wrapped in a single towel on the plush lounge sofa, Emma nestled against him, her voice barely a murmur:
"If this goes wrong…"
Zane interrupted her. "It won't."
"But if it does," she insisted, "promise me something."
He looked down at her. "Anything."
"Don't become the man you were before me."
He didn't answer right away.
Then:
"I won't."
And for once, he meant it.