“From your phone. Not from the cloud backup.”
“Oh god.”
His hand finds mine in the dark, squeezing once. “It's not your fault. You didn't know. But we need that footage.”
“Okay. I can?—"
“The problem,” he continues carefully, “is that the people we're tracking know you saw them, even if you don’t recognize that you did.”
The words settle like ice in my veins. “Are they looking for me?”
“Yes. They don’t know you’ve moved here, though. They think you are still four hours away. That this was just a vacation you were on.”
“What do you need me to do?”
He pulls me back down against his chest, and I can feel his heart racing. He’s not panicked, but focused.
“Right now? Nothing. You stay here where you are safe. I handle the technical side. Tomorrow, we talk about next steps.”
I should argue. Should insist I can help. But the truth is, I trust him. And the fear creeping up my spine tells me this is bigger than I understand.
“Okay, I whisper.”
“Good girl.” He kisses my forehead. “Go back to sleep. I'll be right here.”
But neither of us sleeps.
Morning comes gray and cold. Ty's already dressed when I wake up in tactical pants, dark shirt, and a look on his face that says he's in work mode. Not Daddy mode. Not boyfriend mode.
Operator mode.
“Coffee's ready,” he says.
I wrap myself in his shirt from last night and pad into the kitchen. He's leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and the set of his jaw tells me I'm not going to like what comes next.
“Talk,” I say.
“The footage you took has evidentiary value. That means it needs to be handled through proper channels. Which means people are going to ask questions about how we obtained it.”
I take a sip of coffee, buying time. “What kind of questions?”
“Why a civilian was on restricted property. Why I didn't report it immediately. Why I had you delete your videos instead of bringing you in and confiscating your phone. Why I'm involved with you personally while you're tangentially connected to an active investigation.”
My stomach twists. “Are you in trouble?”
“Not yet. But I will be if this isn't handled correctly.”
“So what do we do?”
He's quiet for a moment, and I can see him working through scenarios, calculating risks. “You go dark for a while.”
I set my mug down. “What does that mean?”
“No posting. No public appearances. You take a break, tell your followers you're recharging, and we wait for this to blowover. The tech people are in your account; they have the videos from your drive that day and will analyze them. We have to keep you safe for now until our suspect is in custody.”
Something hot and defensive flares in my chest. I know it’s stupid, but I’ve worked really hard at building my following and a hiatus can cost me everything. There are drafts I have saved, enough to post for a few days, maybe a week. After that, I’ll need new content. “For how long?”
“A few weeks. Maybe a month.”
