I find myself staring at my reflection for long periods of time. Not because I am a secret narcissist who is in love with their face, I leave that shit to Jeremiah, but because I am convinced that if I stare hard enough, I might be able to locate a hint of life behind my skin.

So far, I have been left wanting.

The tireless flight home has done nothing to soften my harsh appearance, leaving me to look more strung out than before. My hair is a wreck; the thick ginger locks matted together with sweat as they fall over my shoulder. The kohl eyeliner I applied two days ago is smudged, drawing far too much attention to the bags hanging under my exhausted green eyes.

I look like a healthier version of the heroin chic models from the mid-nineties: all long limbs, soft curves, and in desperate need of a good night's sleep. Well, if those models also sported one heavily tattooed arm and a septum ring.

It hasn't even been six hours since I returned to this dungeonous building, and I am already debating throwing myself out of the window. Would the twelve-story fall be the thing that finally kills me?

Probably not. Chances are, I would come to a few hours later with a killer migraine and a new clause in the contract stating there are to be no suicide attempts while hunting down the Sons.

This place never changes. The room smells the same, like cinnamon and overindulgence with underlying hints of disappointment. It is a tacky display of wealth. I drag my hand along the paisley wallpaper, cursing the designer they hired to remodel it after purchasing it.

You can tell whoever it was wasn't human because only something supernatural would find this color scheme pleasant.

The distant sound of tedious agents shuffling fills the silence around me, and I glower, already missing my peace and quiet. My apartment in Utah might have been half the size of my room here and reeked of rotting wood, but it was silent.

I think the founders of the DSA secretly got off on torturing their agents, which would explain why they require all of them to live in the same building. Hell, they even went as far as to place that very building directly next to the office that most of them work, eat, and train out of.

It was explained to me that it was done to ensure agents are always ready for a call, but I think the whole thing is poorly thought out. All it would take is a few well-placed bombs, and BAM! Bye-bye, DSA.

"You look like shit run over," Jeremiah comments, letting him and Peter into my room without knocking.

The two approach me cautiously, and I realize that, even after all this time, they still see me as a threat.

"Coming from you, I will take that as a compliment." I motion to the space between them. "So, are you two officially a couple? Or is someone paying Peter to follow you around like a bitch in heat?"

Peter takes a reckless step towards me. "I'll show you a bitch in heat."

"Time and place, big boy," I taunt. "But let's not forget what happened the last time, okay? I'd hate to damage that pretty face of yours again."

"Knock it off, you two." Jeremiah points to the stack of paperwork on my bed. "Those signed yet?"

"Of course they are. I also took the liberty of having a few copies made for myself, just in case your boss decides to screw me over again. I expect a copy of the notarized contract before it is filed."

He gathers up the stack of papers before passing them off to Peter. "Take those down to Micah so he can have them notarized, copied, and filed immediately. We need to have those on record as soon as possible in case someone decides to change her mind and flee."

Peter glances at where I stand before turning his back to me and whispering to Jeremiah, " Are you sure you'll be fine up here alone?"

"Yeah, Jeremiah," I mock, letting Peter know that whispering is not his strong point. "Are you sure you'll be fine up here alone? Tonight might be the night I finally snap and slaughter you before poor Peter has the chance to confess his undying love for you."

"I will be more than fine. Eden has read the contract and knows what is in store for her should she step out of line."

All of this time, and he still doesn't grasp that I give zero fucks about what happens to me?

Peter nods but remains rooted in place, looking much kike he would enjoy nothing more than to take a swing at me. His menacing gaze locks with my unbothered one, and I raise a brow, daring him to make a move. I may be restricted from lashing out at others, but the contract stated nothing about self-defense, and, good lord, what I wouldn't give to self-defense my foot right up his ass.

The mountain of a man lets out a huff, turning so that he can exit the room.

"Must you taunt him?" Jeremiah questions tiredly.

I lean against the massive dresser next to the closet. "Yes, I must. Someone here has to keep his ego from growing so large that it takes over the building and suffocates us all. What's his deal these days? Is he like your bodyguard or something?"

"Or something," Jeremiah mumbles, kicking at the duffel beside my bed. "Not even a full day back, and you've already turned this room into a dump. Some things never change, am I right? Did you even read the updated handbook I gave you?"

"All agents must keep their personal space worthy of inspection at all times," I recite the first rule word for word. "All agents must arrive at their preassigned training room and patrol meeting location no less than fifteen minutes before their scheduled times. No agents should act without permission from their Chied or direct supervisor. Blah blah fuckin blah. It's like the Fae go out of their way to suck the fun out of everything."

"Can you even remember what fun feels like?"

I feel the muscles in my jaw tighten as he sends the harsh reminder my way. The rage inside growls, its usual hum growing louder. "How about you let me break a few of your bones, and we will see if that jogs my memory? I will let you know when it stops being a chore and starts being fun."

"Oh, how I've missed your smart mouth; so pretty and soft." He crosses the room, now standing dangerously close to me. His eyes scan the length of me slowly, and he licks his lips. "Fuck, you look just as tempting as I remember. Why don't you let me have a go at you and see if that stirs up memories of what fun is?"

"Did you need something besides the contract? It has been a long two days, and I desperately need a shower, food, and about three hundred hours of sleep."

"The contract was all I came up here for, but I can think of a few things I need from you. We can start with the shower if you'd like."

He reaches for me, his fingers skimming lightly over my jaw.

Anger ignites like a wildfire, and I grab his wrist, pinning it behind his back so that I can slam him face-first into the wall.

"Careful," he grunts. "I could have you thrown in a cell for this."

"Is that what you're going to do, Jeremiah? You going to run downstairs to your owner and tell him I'm not playing nice? Piss off, you enjoy this shit, and we both know it."

He stops struggling, and I tighten my grip. "You're right, I love it. I'm so hard right now that it's ridiculous. Telling the Chief about this little mishap will only ruin all the fun things I have planned for us. I would hate to see you locked away before we have time to pick up where we left off."

"Let me make myself clear." I wrench his arm higher, feeling the bone struggling to remain in one piece. "What happened between us will never happen again. It was a huge mistake, and I regret every single moment of it. I came back here to get a job done so I can get as far away from this Fae-infested state as humanly possible. If you so much as lay another finger on me, I will make sure you beg for a quick death. Understood?"

I release him, taking a few steps back to allow him time to regain his composure.

During our flight home, it became clear to me that Jeremiah had spent some time climbing his way through the ranks of the DSA, meaning that he was now used to giving orders instead of taking them. Crossing a line the way I just did would leave him angry in more ways than one, and giving him space is needed if I want to remain here long enough to gain back my freedom.

He takes a long breath and rubs at his wrists, a devious smile spreading across his lips. "Foreplay over so soon? You know how much I love it when you get rough with me; gets my adrenaline pumping. Having you back is going to be far more fun than I imagined. Oh, and don't forget, I am right down the hall if you want to work off more of that anger later."

He is out of my room before I can swing on him.