Pope wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe the second or third job, when Smurf handed off the haul to you instead of one of the usual fences. Maybe it was the way your voice didn’t rise when you talked to him—low, measured, no hint of fear. Not like the others.

You weren’t family. You weren’t even Oceanside. But you had the kind of cold efficiency Pope respected—and the kind of calm that haunted him long after you were gone.

Now, in the kitchen of the Cody house, Pope watched as you carefully inspected a velvet bag of loose stones Craig dropped on the table like candy. The room was loud—Deran and Craig arguing over some side hustle, J typing like a ghost in the background—but Pope only heard you. The brush of your fingers against velvet. The faint hum you always did when assessing value. The glint of steel in your expression when something didn’t add up.

“That’s not Tanzanite,” you muttered, flicking a blue gem back into Craig’s chest with lethal precision. “It’s cheap glass. Try again.”

Craig groaned. “You always gotta be so damn—”

“Smart?” You didn’t look at him. Your eyes had already lifted—locking with Pope’s from across the kitchen, like you knew he was watching. Like you didn’t mind.

That was the thing about you. You never minded Pope. Not when he lingered in doorways. Not when his voice came low and gravel-rough at two a.m. asking if you were still working. Not when he stood just a little too close during handoffs, his breath heavy, presence thunderous.

“She’s not afraid of me,” Pope once told J, like a confession—like a threat.

You looked up again as if summoned by the thought.

“Hey,” you said quietly, ignoring the others. “Come here.”

And he did. No hesitation. No questions. He moved toward you like a wolf to the scent of blood—drawn, driven, unspeakably loyal to something he didn’t understand.

You slid a wrapped piece of cloth toward him—clean, pressed, heavier than it looked.

“Pocket that,” you murmured. “That’s not for them.”

Your fingers touched his for half a second. Too long. Too soft.

And that was when Pope knew—he was already yours.

Even if you didn’t want him. Even if you never asked. Even if it burned.