Except tonight, every page feels like proof that someone is inside my world.
Maybe inside my head.
I slide open a folder and a photograph slips out onto the rug.
Not a printed photo.
A Polaroid.
Old. Slightly bent at the corner. Two people in it—me, younger, smiling too big, face sunburned and happy. And him beside me, arm slung around my shoulders like he owns them.
Evan Bell.
My stomach drops so hard I swear it hits the floorboards.
Crewe’s gaze sharpens instantly. He doesn’t move closer, but the air around him changes. Tightens.
“Who’s that?” he asks, voice calm in the way a blade is calm.
I stare at the photo like it might burst into flames if I glare hard enough. “My ex.”
The word tastes bitter. Like old coffee left on a hot plate.
Crewe’s eyebrows lift a fraction. “Your ex.”
I don’t like the way he says it. Not accusing. Not judgmental. Just… alert.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “And before you ask—no, I don’t have a lot of old exes sniffing around.”
His mouth twitches again. “Wasn’t going to ask that.”
I flip the photo over. On the back, in my handwriting, there’s a date and a joke.
Evan + Riley / Test Range / Don’t let me crash the drone again lol
My chest tightens. The memory tries to rise—warm sun, laughter, that early feeling of being seen by someone who thinks your brain is the coolest thing about you.
Back when I didn’t know “being seen” could turn into being watched.
I push the memory down and keep flipping through the folder. There are old printed notes from an early project—back when my work was half-baked and hopeful and not yet important enough for anyone to break into a base lab over.
A sticky note is stuck to one page, curling at the edges. Evan’s handwriting—sharp, lean, too neat.
Your code is beautiful. Don’t ever let anyone “simplify” it. They won’t understand what it is. What YOU are.
My skin prickles.
Crewe sets his mug down. “Riley.”
Something about the way he says my name makes my spine straighten. Like my body knows to take him seriously even when my brain is in a spiral.
I swallow. “He went off-grid months ago.”
Crewe’s eyes narrow. “Explain.”
I exhale, rubbing my palm over my thigh like I can wipe the goosebumps away. “He was… talented. He worked drones like they were an extension of his hands. He always wanted to push things further. Faster. More autonomous.”
Crewe doesn’t blink.
