"Mara Voss, get your hands off that console."
Ronan Vale's voice cut through the broadcast room one second before the citywide feed switched to my face.
I kept my fingers on the control panel.
"Funny," I said. "I was about to tell you the same thing."
Three cameras stared at us through the glass. Beyond them, the Nightglass Council sat beneath the silver moon crest, every member wired to a microphone.
Every district in Briarport was watching.
And in less than a minute, I was going to accuse the High Warden of stealing from the city's flood defenses.
Ronan stepped between me and the console. His black coat brushed my knees. Cold metal and cedar clung to him, along with the bond I'd spent six months pretending I couldn't feel.
"Walk away," he said.
"Not until the ledger goes live."
His jaw locked. "You altered city records."
"I corrected city records. There's a difference."
He leaned closer.
Heat slipped between us. His breath brushed my cheek. His eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second before snapping back to mine.
That tiny mistake hurt worse than the cameras.
"You don't know what you're doing," he said.
"I know two hundred million crowns left the flood-defense account. I know the replacement gate cores never arrived. And I know every transfer carries your seal."
His face went hard. "Lower your voice."
"Why? Afraid the city might hear?"
Behind him, the red broadcast light came on.
The host turned toward the main camera with a polished smile. "Briarport, tonight's emergency defense briefing will begin in—"
Ronan reached for my wrist.
I jerked away before he could close his hand around me.
"Touch me," I warned, "and I'll show the whole city the second ledger."
His expression went still.
Good. He knew exactly what that meant.
The first ledger showed the missing money. The second showed where it went. I had one data chip hidden inside my sleeve, and I hadn't planned to release it until every camera was live.
I needed witnesses.
I needed Ronan trapped.
His voice dropped. "You brought private evidence into a public hearing."
"You brought stolen money into a flood emergency."
"You have no idea what those funds paid for."
"Then explain it. Live."
The host's smile began to crack as the producer counted down with two fingers.
Five.
Four.
Ronan's hand curled beside his thigh. The black Warden ring on his index finger caught the studio lights.
Three.
The bond pulled tight beneath my ribs.
Not pain. Not yet.
Recognition.
Every nerve in my body knew him. Every part of me that still remembered his hands wanted to step closer.
I dug my nails into my palm.
Two.
Ronan looked at my mouth again.
One.
The host faced the camera. "High Warden Vale, citizens are demanding answers about the failing tide gates. Your chief engineer appears to have brought documents challenging your report."
Ronan didn't look at the host.
He looked at me.
"Mara Voss is no longer chief engineer of Briarport."
The room dropped silent.
My stomach sank, but I kept my face toward the camera.
The host blinked. "High Warden, that wasn't in the prepared statement."
"It is now."
I laughed once. Sharp. Ugly. "You planned to fire me on live television?"
"You planned to accuse me on live television."
"Because you stole from the city."
A murmur rolled through the council seats. Someone's microphone squealed.
Ronan turned toward the audience. "Mara Voss has been removed for falsifying tide reports, accessing restricted accounts, and creating panic during an active emergency."
"That's a lie."
The host lifted a hand. "Mara, can you respond?"
"Gladly."
I stepped around Ronan and faced the main camera.
"The High Warden's office transferred two hundred million crowns out of the flood-defense account over the last nine months. The money was marked for replacement gate cores. Those cores never arrived. The harbor gates are running on damaged parts, and the council knows it."
"Security," Ronan snapped.
He caught my elbow before I could reach the console.
His grip was hot. Firm. Too close to bruising.
"Let go," I said.
"Give me the chip."
"Ask nicely."
His thumb pressed into the inside of my arm.
The bond flared.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
The cameras caught that, too.
Ronan's eyes sharpened. He felt it. Of course he did. The bond had always screamed between us, a live wire under our skin.
He'd spent six months acting like it wasn't there.
"You're making a scene," he murmured.
"You fired me in front of the whole city. I think the scene is yours."
The host leaned toward us. "Mara, do you have proof?"
I pulled the data chip from my sleeve.
Ronan's guards moved instantly.
Two black-uniformed wardens blocked the booth doors. Another grabbed my shoulder from behind. The chip slipped between my fingers.
"Don't touch her!" Ronan barked.
The guard froze.
I twisted, drove my heel into his boot, and shoved the chip toward the console.
Ronan moved faster.
His hand closed around mine before I could plug it in.
Warm palm. Rough fingers. A grip I knew too well.
For one vicious second, our hands fit the way they had when we were younger and stupid enough to believe fate meant safety.
His thumb brushed my knuckles.
Then he ripped the chip from my fingers.
"Ronan," I said, low enough for only him to hear. "You really want to do this?"
"You should've come to me."
"I came to you three times. You locked your office."
"Because you wouldn't listen."
"Because you wouldn't answer."
His face stayed cold, but his grip loosened by a fraction.
I could've pulled free.
I didn't.
Neither did he.
The host's voice shook. "High Warden, why are your guards detaining the city's chief engineer during a live emergency briefing?"
"She's not being detained," Ronan said.
"Then why are you holding her wrist?"
His gaze dropped between us.
The bond burned hotter.
I felt the exact second he noticed the cameras zooming in—my hand in his, his thumb against my skin, our bodies too close for strangers.
I tore myself free.
"Tell them," I said. "Tell them why you can't let me release the ledger."
Ronan's mouth flattened. "Mara, stop."
"Tell them."
"You don't want this fight."
"I want my evidence."
"You want revenge."
The word hit because he knew it would.
The cameras couldn't hear him, but they caught my face. They caught the way my fingers curled.
Ronan stepped closer, blocking the view of my hands. His chest brushed mine. Heat soaked through my shirt. His breath touched the corner of my mouth.
"You think exposing me will fix what happened between us?" he asked.
I stared up at him. "This isn't about us."
"You wore my mark for six months."
"You never gave me one."
His eyes went cold.
The host's voice rose. "What mark? What is he talking about?"
A nervous murmur spread through the council.
Ronan turned toward the camera.
I knew that look.
He'd made decisions in that silence before. Cruel ones. Clean ones. Decisions that left me nowhere to run.
"Don't," I whispered.
His fingers lifted toward the black ring on his hand.
"Ronan, don't you dare."
He twisted the ring once.
The seal flashed silver.
The bond clamped around my ribs.
The host stood so fast her chair scraped the floor. "High Warden, what are you doing?"
Ronan's eyes stayed on mine.
"Mara Voss," he said, his voice carrying through every microphone, "you want the city to know the truth? Then let them see who you really are to me—"