There was a beat of silence on the line. “You can’t keep doing this, man. You know how it ends when you try to save someone who doesn’t want saving.”
Marshall’s grip on the phone tightened. He knew Jackson was referencing an operation in the Middle East. But he remembered another night, another goodbye, another version of her watching him walk away. He’d sworn he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He watched the lights in her office blink off, one by one, like falling dominos.
“Then I’ll make her want it,” he said quietly.
Jackson let out a long sigh—half concern, half resignation. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Copy that. Try not to get arrested for loitering.”
The line clicked dead.
Marshall sat for another minute, phone still in his hand, the Patriots game long forgotten.
The engine hummed low as he watched people filter out of the building. A courier hauled catering boxes to a black SUV. Two people met and embraced on the sidewalk. Normal thing. Things that didn’t belong in the same universe as what he was doing. It was a wonder he could even have a normal conversation. His life felt so far removed from the people he watched, just existing in the serene ignorance of someone who didn’t realize the forces at play in the world.
He told himself it was just procedure, and that he was just keeping her safe until they confirmed the trail went cold. But at 7:48 p.m., when the revolving doors turned again and Norah stepped into the streetlight, every argument for control suddenly felt paper thin.
She had her blazer folded over one arm, heels clicking against the pavement, her stride brisk but too measured, like she was thinking more than walking. He remembered that look—the one she wore before an argument, before an exam, before every moment she pretended she wasn’t afraid.
Norah paused under the awning, thumb swiping over her phone, face lit by its glow. For a second, she looked like anyone else leaving work after too long a day. For a second, he almost let her be.
Then she crossed the street toward the Metro, and instinct overruled reason.
He killed the engine and got out. The air bit colder once he was moving, the city noise collapsing into the rhythmic click of her heels and the echo of his own footsteps following a half beat behind.
“Working late again?”
Norah stopped short, surprise flashing across her face before she smoothed it away. “Marshall.” Her voice came out quiet, even, but he caught the tension in it.
He gave a small, practiced smile. “You shouldn’t be here alone after hours.”
Her brows drew together. “I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on my schedule now.” Her eyes sparked, and for a second, he saw the same stubborn defiance that had once wrecked him. “You don’t get to decide what’s safe for me, Marshall. You never did.”
He almost smiled—not because it was funny, but because it was so perfectly her. Always ready to swing, even when she didn’t know where the punches were coming from. “You’re in deeper than you understand,” he said, voice low. “Summit isn’t clean. And NorthBridge is—” He stopped himself. Too much, too fast. “You’ve already shown up on the wrong radar.”
“Then maybe you should stop watching it.” She stepped to move past him. “There is something up with the NorthBridge files, and I’m protecting Summit. That’s my job. And I’m very good at it.”
He shifted, blocking her. “Let me put it a different way.” His tone dropped another octave, quiet enough that only she could hear. “There are people who’d love to make an example out of a mid-level analyst who pushed the wrong pattern at the wrong time. You keep digging, and you’ll light yourself up for every one of them.”
She tilted her head and the streetlight caught on the dark gloss of her hair. Her arms folded across her chest, bag strappressing against her elbow. “Amazing. You still think you know better.”
He swallowed the frustration before it could show. Pride was cheaper than funerals. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, “and I’ll walk away.”
Her mouth twitched. “Yeah. You’ve had some practice with that.”
That hit harder than he liked. He shifted his stance, one hand tightening inside his pocket where she couldn’t see.She’s right.He could read a stranger’s tells in under a minute, but with her, he didn’t have to. He remembered every single one.
“Hale can’t protect you from this.”
Color crept into her throat. “I trust Richard, and he trusts me.”
He ignored the stab of jealousy at the familiarity with which she said his name. She cared about him. And that made Marshall nearly hate him already. “So now you’re trying to get proof.” His gaze flicked to her bag.
Her fingers curled around the strap, and she looked past him down the sidewalk. “Leave, Marshall.”
