Chapter 13 · Two Names, One Chart

"—compliance flag on cage-side, twenty-two-oh-four, repeat, this feed is now under review—" The intercom voice cracks and dies mid-word, and Levi's wrist is still locked in my fist.

He doesn't pull back. That's the thing about Levi Grant. Even caught, even bleeding through my gauze, he doesn't pull back.

"You heard that," he says, low, like it's my fault the door magnets picked tonight to die. "Camera's live. Somewhere upstairs somebody with a badge is watching me let a man with a suspended license touch me."

"Suspended." I press my thumb into the wrap, right over the cut, and his jaw goes tight, a muscle jumping under three days of stubble. "Not revoked. There's a difference, Commissioner. Look it up in the same binder you used to ban me."

"Get off."

"Say please."

He shoves. I don't let go — I plant my other hand flat on his sternum and drive, and for one second it's just weight against weight, his shoulder blade hitting the gurney rail hard enough to ring, my forearm bar-locked across his collarbone. Bone knocks bone.