It was close to midnight when I left the CSI building and drove to Hells watch, the document pressed into my palm like it carried intent instead of ink.
"Get it together," I muttered as I unlocked my car. "You're delivering paperwork, and get out of there once done. That's it."
The words sounded weak even to my own ears, and Enzo Vitale's voice surfaced uninvited, smooth and precise as a blade sliding free of its sheath.
He wants you to deliver it yourself, Captain Cole.
Adrian Blackwood didn't make requests. He framed inevitabilities so cleanly they felt like choice. And the most disturbing part wasn't that I was doing exactly what he wanted, it was that a part of me had agreed before my mouth ever did.
"Just business," I said aloud, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. "Just fucking business."
The gates opened after my badge was scanned twice, and the damn guards went quiet when they read the name on the paperwork.
One of them cleared his throat. "Private visitors' wing."
"I didn't request that," I said sharply.
"Warden's orders."
Inside, Hell's Watch was colder, and the doors sealed behind me with a finality that settled deep in my bones, and each mechanical click sounded like a decision I couldn't undo.
When we stopped, the guard didn't explain and simply opened the door and stepped back, and the moment I crossed the threshold, I knew I'd already lost something.
The lighting was fucking warm and intimate; recessed fixtures softened the shadows instead of sharpening them. A thick rug muted my footstep,s and dark wood panels lined the walls where concrete should have been. A leather couch sat to the side, polished and inviting. At the center stood a metal table, cold, deliberate, ceremonial.
"This isn't a visitation room," I muttered.
"It's a warm and nice environment," a voice corrected calmly. "You should appreciate that."
Adrian Blackwood stood beside the table; the blue prison jumpsuit clung to him like it had been tailored instead of issued. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposed forearms etched in ink, and most of all, he looked relaxed.
The door clicked shut behind me, and his gray eyes lifted slowly, deliberately, and settled on mine like he'd been waiting for the exact second I arrived.
"Captain Cole," he said softly. " Its good to see you again."
"You asked for me," I responded with a snicker.
His mouth curved. "No. I set terms. I'm pleased you respected them."
"I'm here to deliver the signed agreement," I said coolly.
"Then you should feel comfortable," he replied. "Everything here was arranged for you."
I stepped forward and stopped at the table, placing the envelope down between us. "The cooperation agreement. Signed. Approved. You provide intelligence, and we dismantle the network."
He didn't reach for it, and instead, he studied me.
"Show me," he said.
The command landed heavier than it should have.
"Adrian—"
"Show me."
I unfolded the contract and laid it flat. He leaned over it slowly, deliberately invading my space. Close enough that his breath brushed my jaw. Close enough that it was impossible to pretend it wasn't intentional.
"So this," he murmured, eyes scanning the page, "is your signature."
"Yes."
"You sound like someone who believes in control."
"I believe in order."
"And yet," he said softly, lifting his gaze, "you're standing alone in a room I designed."
"This isn't a game."
His eyes sharpened with amusement. "It is to me."
I stepped back. "You have what you wanted. I'm leaving."
"You came after midnight," he said calmly. "Alone. Who do you think is in control here, Captain?"
"I came to expedite the investigation."
He laughed quietly. "You're lying."
"You don't get to analyse me."
"I already have."
He moved closer. One step. Then another.
"Step back," I warned.
He stopped instantly. The corner of his mouth lifted. "You sound afraid."
"That doesn't make you safe."
"No," he agreed. "It makes me dangerous."
My jaw tightened. "You want this deal or not?"
"I want you," he said smoothly.
I stilled. "That's not part of the agreement."
"No," he replied. "It's the foundation of it."
I swallowed hard. "You're crossing lines."
"I build them," he said. "Then I decide who's allowed to step over."
His hand lifted, hovering near my jaw. Not touching. Waiting.
"Say stop," he murmured. "And I will."
The word lodged in my throat.
His fingers closed around my jaw, controlled, tilting my face just enough to steal my balance.
"There," he said softly. "That hesitation."
He turned me smoothly, pressing me back against the wall without fully touching me, the space between us charged, electric, unbearable.
"You're angry," he murmured. "Fascinated. Afraid."
"You don't get to define me."
"I already am."
My breath hitched. Heat coiled low and dangerous.
"This is a mistake," I whispered.
"Yes," he agreed. "And you're still here."
"We need your intelligence."
"No," he corrected. "You need me."
The truth of it struck deeper than I wanted to admit.
"You think this gives you power," I said hoarsely.
"It gives me leverage," he replied. "Power is what you're offering me willingly."
I shoved his chest lightly, enough to remind myself I could still act.
He smiled. "Careful," he said. "You're telling me exactly where to press."
I stepped away at last, forcing distance between us. My pulse thundered.
"This deal is conditional," I said. "One misstep and it's revoked."
He straightened slowly. "Of course."
I folded the contract and placed it back on the table. "You'll hear from us within forty-eight hours."
"You'll hear from me sooner," he replied.
I turned toward the door.
"Nate."
I froze.
He said my name like it belonged to him. "You don't come back from this," he said quietly. "You don't walk into my world and leave unchanged."
I didn't turn around. "I'm not afraid of you," I retorted
His voice followed me anyway, velvet-dark and certain.
"You should be," he said. "Because you're already mine to study."