But it isn’t her. It’s Jason.
The smirk dies instantly. A flicker of irritation sparks beneath my ribs as I stand, weighing whether I should even bother answering. Somewhere between yesterday and now, the thin thread of whatever partnership we had snapped clean without either of us noticing. He doesn’t know half of what happened, and I have no intention of filling in the gaps for him.
He wouldn’t understand anyway.
And I refuse to stand there and absorb his and Lucia’s pinched expressions, their tight little frowns, their judgment bleeding through their pores as if the question isn’t already obvious in their eyes.
How could you?
While I’m buried in that thought, the call fades into silence. I exhale, relieved, thinking it’s done.
But then the phone vibrates again, Jason’s name flashing with stubborn insistence, sending a restless pulse into my palm.
Fine.
I hit the green button, bringing the phone to my ear. “Yes,” I say, the word spilling out coated in simmering anger. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose, tension tightening like a coil inside my skull.
“Where the fuck were you, Dante?” he snaps, his frustration crashing into mine without hesitation. “We were worried sick for your ass while you just disappeared.”
I nudge one of my suitcases out of the way with a lazy kick as I move deeper into the apartment. There isn’t much here—a couch, a work table, a kitchen table, two chairs, one wooden, one soft. Barely enough to fill the space. Yet even with the emptiness and the pale walls, the golden Barcelona light filtering through spills warmth across the room. It gives the place a pulse. A promise. Fragile, uncertain, but breathing.
“I’m sorry I was absent,” I say, forcing my voice to carry some kind of… fuck, anything resemblingnormal. The words scrape out of me, hollow.
That trip to London knocked me off my axis more than I expected. My thoughts are scattered, my nerves frayed, and talking to Jason feels like trying to grab smoke. But if I don’t pull myself together, he’ll start asking questions.
“I got caught up in work. I need to build trust, remember?” I manage, though every syllable tastes like a lie. A lie that feels likea betrayal of Estella. “I can’t really have friends in my new life, you know,” I add, twisting a thread of sarcasm into it, hoping he takes it as nonchalance rather than desperation.
Silence stretches on the other end. Long enough that I start picturing him setting the phone down and walking away without a word.
“Aren’t you supposed to turn your phone off when you’re on the mission? That’s what we agreed on,” he says. “You were available.”
Oh, fuck me.
I forgot. Entirely.
“Jason, I’m deep in this,” I snap, leaning into the irritation, letting it sharpen my tone. “I’m running around pretending I’d do anything for this job, dealing with all the shit they’re throwing my way. So what if I forgot? Does that mean you don’t trust me anymore?”
I hate pushing him into a corner, hate sounding like some gaslighting manipulative asshole. But he leaves me no choice. I need him steady, and I need him calm. Jason is the type who will chew on inconsistencies until he grinds them to dust, then start digging through the crumbs. Eventually, he’ll find something he shouldn’t.
This is for his own good.
“I do trust you, man, it’s just—” he exhales, his earlier edge melting away. “Look, I’m sorry. You gotta understand, Lucia and I… we were scared shitless here. You know her. She started imagining the worst, thinking they caught you, that you were being tortured somewhere.”
Technically, Iwasbeing tortured—just not in the way they imagined. Sitting across from Bennett, listening to his never-ending stream of sanctimonious bullshit while restraining myself from rearranging his face… that was real torture.
“I understand,” I say evenly, lifting my wrist to check the time. Finding this place, arranging the meeting, getting here without drawing attention—it had all taken far more effort than I’d planned.
On the black canvas of the watch face, its golden numbers glinting faintly, a single dried drop of blood clings to the edge.
“Don’t worry,” I add, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear while my free hand brushes the crimson fleck away. “I’m okay. Everything’s going as we planned. I can’t reveal more on the phone,” I continue. “When the time comes, I’ll contact you or get back to base. Just try not to overthink things while I’m in the field, okay?”
“Where are you exactly?” he presses.
“Barcelona,” I answer, uttering the first clean truth I’ve given him in weeks. “I’ll be here for a while. Got myself a nice, bare apartment.”
“Are you sure you’re safe there?” Jason asks. There’s a muffled voice in the background, then he lets out a small laugh. “Lucia says she wants to help you paint the walls. Says she’s got a knack for it.”
“No.” The word escapes sharply, louder and harsher than I intend. I can practically feel both of them stiffen at the tone. I grit my teeth, cursing myself for letting emotion bleed through again. “I mean, it’s dangerous for you to be here. We can’t risk being seen together.”
