Neither did Miller, apparently. Because even knowing what she knew now, even with the fear settling cold and heavy in her stomach, she was still going to that hotel room tonight.
She was still going to Astoria, and she had no idea how to stop.
Miller couldn’t have said what she’d done all afternoon. The Stewart file sat open on her desk, the same page she’d been staring at since after the conversation at the coffee shop still unread. She’d answered emails and taken a call from a client whose name she couldn’t recall five minutes later. At some point, Jasmine had knocked on her door to ask about a filing deadline, and Miller had given her an answer that must have made sense because Jasmine had nodded and left.
But the whole day had passed in a haze of Rachel's voice on a loop.She's asking questions. She's watching. If there's something to find, she'll find it.
By six o’clock, Miller had given up pretending. She shut down her computer, gathered her things, and walked out into the lingering heat, her skin prickling with more than just humidity.
The hotel was on the other side of downtown Phoenix Ridge, a boutique place Astoria had found that was small enough to be discreet but nice enough that the staff didn’t ask questions. It was different from last time and the time before, their choreography designed to leave no patterns for anyone to find, especially Valerie.
But tonight, Miller noticed every face in the lobby, every flicker of recognition that wasn’t there.
Astoria was already there when Miller knocked on the door—three quick taps, their signal. The door opened, and there she was: barefoot, still in her work clothes but with the blazer discarded and her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked soft in the low light of the room, unguarded in a way Miller hadn’t seen her anywhere else.
“Hey,” Astoria said, and the word was warm and familiar. Then her expression shifted and a shadow crossed her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Miller stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind her. The room was the same as every other hotel room: neutral colors, expensive sheets, the anonymous comfort of a space that belonged to nobody. She’d started associating that anonymity with safety. Tonight, it felt like a thin shield against everything pressing in from the outside world.
“That obvious?” Miller tried to smile and felt it fall flat.
“You texted ‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’ That’s not your usual style.” Astoria hadn’t moved toward her, hadn’t reached for herthe way she usually did. She was reading Miller the way she read everyone. “Talk to me.”
Miller crossed the room toward the window and looked out at the city lights beginning to glow against the darkening sky. It was easier to say this without looking at Astoria’s face. “I had coffee with Rachel this morning. She wanted to warn me about something.”
“Warn you about what?”
Miller hated the way Astoria’s voice sounded guarded, as if bracing for impact.
“Valerie.” The name tasted vile. “She’s been asking questions. About me, specifically. Why I really recused, what conflict could have come up mid-case, things like that. She keeps telling Rachel that I would’ve fought harder for her, that things were going better when I was on the case.”
Miller heard Astoria’s sharp intake of breath behind her but didn’t turn around.
“Rachel said Valerie has noticed you seem different lately too. Lighter and less defensive.” Now she did turn, needing to see Astoria’s reaction. “She connected it to when I left the case.”
Astoria had gone very still. It was her tell, the one Miller learned to recognize. When Astoria felt threatened, she didn’t flinch or flee. She froze, every muscle locked down and her face smoothing into something unreadable.
“She doesn’t have proof,” Astoria said, almost like her voice was disembodied. It wasn’t a question.
“Rachel doesn’t think so. If she did, she’d already be using it.” Miller pressed her back against the window frame, needing something solid behind her. “But she’s looking. Rachel said there’s something about her, a kind of relentlessness. Apparently, she doesn’t let things go.”
“No.” Astoria’s voice sounded hollow and tinny. “She doesn’t.”
The words hung between them, heavy with everything Astoria had told her the last time they were together: the years of being surveilled and tracked, the machine that ground you down so slowly and surely you didn’t realize you were disappearing until you were almost gone.
“I’m scared,” Miller admitted. “If she finds out—ifanyonefinds out—it's not just me. It's you. It’s your reputation, your case. Valerie would just use this as proof that I was compromised and sabotaged your case before I recused myself. None of that is true, of course, but it wouldlooktrue. And you’d be caught in the middle of it.”
Astoria moved then, finally, crossing the space between them. She stopped just short of touching Miller, her hands hovering at her sides like she wasn’t sure she had permission.
“What do you want to do?” Astoria asked.
“I don’t know.” Miller’s throat felt tight and parched. “We’ve been careful. We’ve gone to different hotels at different times, no patterns. But I keep thinking what if being careful isn’t enough? What if someone’s already seen something? What if?—”
“Miller.” Astoria’s hand came up to caress her face, gentle and grounding. “Stop. Breathe.”
Miller closed her eyes and let out a shaky exhale. Astoria’s palm was warm against her skin, her thumb tracing a slow arc across Miller’s cheekbone.
“What doyouwant me to do?” Miller asked, opening her eyes. “Because if you want to stop, if you think the risk is too high, I need you to tell me. I won’t be the reason your divorce gets thrown into chaos. I refuse to be the weapon Valerie uses against you.”
