I curl up in the armchair by the bed, bare feet tucked against the cushion, watching the slow rise and fall of Sandi’s chest.

A soft but firm knock interrupts my thoughts. I open the door to find Mikael standing there, coat unbuttoned, eyes slate in the corridor light.

“Tarmo would like a word,” he says, voice low. “Now.”

I glance back—Sandi stirs but doesn’t wake—then slip into the hall, pulling the door softly shut behind me.

The walk to Tarmo’s suite is silent, except for Mikael’s boots padding softly on the carpet. He doesn’t look at me or offer any explanation.

Inside, the heat is immediate. Tarmo stands by the window, city lights glinting behind him. A half-empty tumbler sits on the table beside his chair; its amber glow suggests it’s been there a long time.

“Elena,” he says, still facing the window, as if the name itself weighs and measures my arrival.

“Mikael said you wanted to talk.”

He gestures at the chair opposite him. I remain standing.

“You’ve avoided me since Kandovan,” he begins, still not meeting my eyes. “I let you. I thought you’d come to me after you finished with Sandi.” At last, he turns, his gaze cutting right into mine. “But you didn’t.”

I cross my arms. “You sent Mikael like an errand boy to wake me. That’s not speaking, Tarmo. That’s summoning.”

He gives me a small, worn smile. “You don’t answer calls any other way.”

“Well, it’s not like your house call last night went unnoticed.”

The air between us stretches taut. The memory of the cave—hands, heat, breath muffled by stone—lingers, an unspoken accusation neither of us can release.

“You don’t get to use Kandovan as a lever,” I say finally. “Not after the deals you’ve made. Not after the way Sandi came back.”

Tarmo studies me, weighing every word. He leans back, putting distance between us, but not breaking it. “You came into that cave knowing exactly who I was.”

“Yes,” I answer. “And again, you’ve proven what that means.”

Then, before I can react, he’s on me—arms tight, holding me fast. “I understand. But feel me,” he murmurs, closing my hand around his cock, already hard.

I stare up at him. “So what, you’re going to force yourself on me now? Is that what’s left of us, Tarmo? Of our passion and love?”

“Yes,” he says, voice low and fierce, “I want to push your thong aside and slide into you—like in Gdańsk, in Tartu. I want to make love to you, hold you, watch you sleep, eat, laugh. I want to smell you again—like that night you teased me, no underwear at the opera. I want—”

He stops. Something in my eyes—the way I look at him, unforgiving, unmoved, harder than he’s ever seen—silences him. He realizes, in that instant, he has nothing left to lose.

“Sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I have nothing without you.”

And with that, he throws me down onto the bed.

In one movement, he lowers his pants. One hand on his cock, the other over my mouth—he’s about to enter me.

Just as Tarmo starts pushing, the air between us turning cruel, there’s a sharp knock at the half-closed door—decisive, not asking permission.

Mikael stands in the threshold, silver eyes cold, every line of his body carrying not just years of discipline but something older, harder to name.

“Tarmo,” Mikael says quietly, but his voice is iron—unmistakable command, not request. “There’s a situation. Now.”

For a breath, Tarmo doesn’t move, jaw clenched. Even in his anger, he reads the warning underneath—a tone Mikael has never used before.

I slip free of Tarmo’s grasp, pulse hammering. Mikael’s silver gaze catches mine for a split second, and in it, I see not just the stone-cold killer, but a guardian—someone weighing the cost of every action.

Tarmo swears, pulls his pants up, fury flickering out into exhaustion. With a low curse, he storms past Mikael, who stands silent and still as a sentinel. Mikael’s silver gaze lingers just long enough to meet my eyes—a silent promise in the hall.

Back in my room, Sandi is still asleep. I sit on the bed’s edge, giving her a lingering glance before pulling the blanket higher over her shoulder. The night is both heavier and lighter for all that was avoided.

I.Ph.