Zayan Rahman looked entirely too comfortable for a man standing inside a maintenance shaft with three stolen access keys, a bleeding knuckle, and half of Neo Atlantica’s security system trying to identify his face.

Nysera had met charming men before.

She had dated charming men before Isaac.

She had worked around charming men in government buildings, where they wore tailored suits and said things like trust me with the confidence of people who had never been held accountable for anything in their lives.

Zayan was worse.

Zayan knew he was charming.

He wore it like a weapon.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

Nysera kept her eyes on the narrow corridor ahead. “I’m calculating how many crimes I could pin on you before anyone questioned it.”

“Only crimes you can prove, love.”

“Please. I could frame you for weather manipulation and people would still say it sounded on-brand.”

His smile flashed in the low red emergency light.

It was not fair that he looked that good while breaking into a classified archive.

Dark curls had fallen across his forehead. His black jacket was unbuttoned at the throat, collar slightly crooked, gold rings catching the pulse of the alarm lights every time his hand moved over the lock panel. His mouth was made for sins and smartass comments, which was a deeply exhausting combination in a man.

“You always this pleasant under pressure?” he asked.

“I am a delight under pressure.”

“You threatened to throw a Council minister off a balcony thirty minutes ago.”

“He was touching a child’s resonance file like it belonged to him.”

Zayan’s humor faded.

Just for a second.

His gaze found hers.

“There she is.”

Nysera frowned. “Who?”

“The woman everyone keeps warning me about.”

She folded her arms. “And what exactly are they warning you about?”

His eyes moved over her slowly—not greedy, not careless. Intentional.

“That you are dangerous.”

Her heartbeat gave one sharp, stupid kick.

“I am.”

“I know.”

The answer landed differently than it should have.

Not flirtation.

Recognition.

Like he did not need her softer. Smaller. Easier to understand.

Like dangerous was not a flaw to him.

It was a language.

The lock clicked.

The service door slid open.

A narrow hall stretched beyond it, silver walls gleaming under low security lights. At the end waited the Shadow Archive—where Council secrets went to rot in expensive silence.

Zayan reached for her hand.

Nysera looked down at it.

Then up at him.

“What?”

“You’re going to need grounding when we go in.”

“I do not need grounding.”

“You nearly collapsed last time a Veil current hit you.”

“I stumbled.”

“You dramatically stumbled.”

“I was attacked by a sentient government nightmare.”

“That is fair.”

He did not lower his hand.

Nysera looked at it again.

His fingers were long, warm-toned, marked with thin scars near the knuckles. Gold bands circled two of them. There was something about his hands that bothered her. They looked too capable.

Too gentle.

Too dangerous.

“What happens if I take it?” she asked.

His smile turned softer, but no less wicked.

“Then I hold on until you ask me not to.”

The corridor suddenly felt too small.

Her breath caught in her throat.

And Zayan noticed.

Of course he did.

He always noticed.

“I thought you were supposed to be the funny one,” she said.

“I contain multitudes.”

“You contain audacity.”

“That too.”

Nysera put her hand in his.

The second their palms met, warmth slid up her arm.

Not magic.

Not exactly.

Just him.

Steady. Present. Real.

Zayan’s fingers closed around hers, firm but not possessive. His thumb brushed once across the inside of her wrist, directly over the pulse he had no business touching.

She should have pulled away.

Instead, she stepped into the hall beside him.

“Try not to get us killed,” she said.

He glanced at her.

“No promises.”

“That is not comforting.”

“You don’t want comforting.” His voice dropped. “You want honest.”

Nysera stopped walking.

Zayan stopped too.

The alarms pulsed red across his face, turning his sharp green-brown eyes darker. For once, he did not make a joke. Did not soften the moment with a smirk.

“You do not have to trust me,” he said quietly. “But I will not lie to you.”

Something inside her shifted.

Small.

Dangerous.

The kind of shift that started wars.

Nysera leaned closer, close enough that his breath touched her mouth.

“You flirt like you’re dismantling a bomb.”

Zayan’s gaze dropped to her lips.

“No,” he whispered. “I flirt like I already know it might explode.”

For one suspended second, neither of them moved.

His hand tightened around hers.

Her body leaned toward him before her pride could stop it.

Then the Shadow Archive door opened by itself.

A cold voice filled the hall.

“Welcome back, Nysera Vael.”

Zayan did not let go of her hand.

Neither did she.