“I’m so glad Carlie took Mason for the day. I needed to not worry about him in a police station.”
“Hopefully, she will continue to be a great, impromptu babysitter.”
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” I admit quietly.
Aiden keeps his eyes on the road. “That’s normal. Doesn’t mean it will.”
I nod, appreciating that he doesn’t try to promise things he can’t control. We sit in companionable silence for the rest of the drive, the city humming around us in a way that feels distant instead of threatening.
“You hungry?” he asks.
I consider it, then shake my head. “I think I need… quiet.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be in the living room.”
We settle into separate corners of the penthouse, not out of distance but out of mutual understanding. I curl up on the couch with a blanket, letting the stillness wrap around me. My phone buzzes once with a text from Roz—short, supportive, relieved—and I answer it just as briefly.
Thank you. I’m okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.
I set the phone aside and close my eyes, breathing slowly, deliberately. The images from the day replay in fragments—Marcus’s face, the interrogation room, the moment my voice didn’t shake when I told him he took nothing that mattered. I hold onto that part, letting it anchor me.
Aiden’s phone rings again, and this time he doesn’t silence it.
The sound cuts cleanly through the quiet, sharp enough that my eyes snap open immediately. I hadn’t realized how close to sleep I’d drifted until that moment, my body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that comes after adrenaline finally burns itself out. Aiden looks down at the screen, and whatever he sees there changes his expression in an instant.
This time, it’s serious.
He answers without moving away from me, his voice low but clear. “Sloan.”
I sit up slowly, blanket sliding down my shoulders, every nerve suddenly awake again. I don’t hear the voice on the other end, but I don’t need to. I recognize the shift in Aiden’s posture,the way his shoulders square, the way his attention narrows until the rest of the room seems to fall away.
“Yes, Chief.”
My stomach tightens.
Aiden turns slightly, pacing a short line along the window while he listens. He doesn’t interrupt, nods once or twice, his jaw tightening more with every second that passes. I watch him carefully, cataloguing every subtle change the way I did earlier with Marcus, and I don’t like what I’m seeing.
“Understood,” Aiden says finally. “I’ll come in.” He ends the call and exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. For a moment, he just stands there, staring out at the city like he’s recalibrating.
“What is it?”
He turns to face me, expression steady but serious in a way that makes my chest constrict. “That was Morales.”
“Okay,” I say carefully. “And?”
“They want me to go down to headquarters,” he continues. “Internal Affairs has questions. About my involvement in the investigation.”
My first instinct is disbelief, followed quickly by anger. “You saved lives. You helped them catch him. What could they possibly?—”
“It’s procedure,” Aiden interrupts gently. “Because Marcus targeted both the bar and the firehouse. Because I was involved at both scenes. Because I’m close to you.”
Close to you.
The phrase echoes in my head, sharp and unwelcome. I stand up, crossing the room to him without thinking. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t ask.”
A familiar guilt rears up, cold and insistent. Of course, this is happening. Of course, my mess has reached into his life now,pulling him into scrutiny and risk. The old reflex kicks in hard, the instinct to create distance before someone else pays the price.
