The editor's blood went cold. "How do you?—"
"Remind her what's at stake," the woman said, voice dropping lower. "And remind yourself. Your organization has benefited greatly from our support. It would be unfortunate if that were to ... evaporate."
The line went dead.
The editor stared at his phone, hands shaking.
He'd thought they were donors.
He'd been wrong.
21
LEVI
Ifound Amelia on the deck, staring out at the water.
She looked disturbed. Not scared, exactly. Just ... off. Like she'd had a conversation that left her standing on uneven ground.
"How'd your call with the editor go?" I asked.
She hesitated.
That alone told me everything I needed to know.
"That good, huh?" I said, moving to stand beside her.
I touched her back, and she exhaled—a small, shaky release. “Come on,” I said, brushing my thumb along her spine. “Let’s go inside.”
She let me guide her away from the railing. We walked across the deck together, her arm warm against mine, the humid air falling away as I opened the door to the stateroom and drew her in.
She exhaled slowly, then turned to face me. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"I didn't tell him everything," she said. "About you. About your father. About what I've learned here. I kept it vague. Threads, I called it. He pressed me for more, and I ... didn't give it to him."
I studied her face. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not ready to burn you," she said simply. "Not for a story. Not for my career. Not for anything."
Something warm bloomed in my chest—gratitude, relief, love, all tangled together.
But underneath it, warning bells went off.
"Amelia," I said carefully. "You're willing to kill the story?"
"If it means protecting you?" She met my eyes. "Yes."
The warmth in my chest twisted into something heavier.
"That's ... that's a lot," I said. "Maybe too much."
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I don't want you giving up too much for me," I said. "Your career matters. The truth matters. I still want you to find it. I just don't want you jeopardizing everything you've built to do it."
She stared at me for a beat, then smiled—soft, genuine, the kind that made my knees weak.
