She is. The fact that I caused the shift sits in my chest like an unspent bullet. Unfortunately, I have to sit with it. I have to let it be at least until Anton’s trap snaps shut.
And not until I confirm what Inessa really is.
After Kiro leaves, I force myself back into the operational flow, but Harper’s silence trails me like a ghost. It pulls at the back of my mind, a persistent ache, the echo of a door closed too hard.
Mikhail bursts in an hour later, bringing the scent of cold air and old resentment.
His glare lands on me, then slides to the empty chair Harper abandoned earlier.
“You’re bringing her into this?” he asks, voice low with disapproval. “Now? When she’s compromised?”
A muscle ticks in my jaw.
“She isn’t compromised.”
“She’s emotional.”
“So are you,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Mikhail’s eyes narrow.
“Don’t mistake my concern for emotion. You’re letting your attachment to her—”
“That attachment,” I cut in, “is the reason she’s alive. And the reason this operation won’t collapse.”
He steps closer, all brute presence and unspoken threat.
“You’re protecting her at the expense of clarity.”
“No,” I answer. “I’m involving her because she sees what the rest of us don’t.”
“Or because you think she’ll forgive you if she feels needed,” he scoffs.
The words hit harder than they should.
He’s wrong.
But the truth is that everything in me wants to pull her back into my arms, if only to know she hasn’t drifted somewhere I can’t reach. I look away first.
“Judgment,” I say quietly, “was poisoned long before Harper.”
Mikhail studies me for a long, dangerous moment. Then he leaves as quick as he appeared. The door slams, and the glass trembles with the impact.
I stand still until the vibrations fade.
Then, as if summoned by my failure to keep the distance I claim to want, Harper reappears in the doorway. She holds her laptop under her arm, screen still glowing with live code.
“Courier rerouted,” she says, her tone clipped. “Your timeline just shrank.”
There’s no hint of the warmth she used to give me without effort.
But she’s here, isn’t she,despite the seed of jealousy I hate myself for provoking.
I nod once and gesture her inside. She steps closer but only close enough for professionalism.
“We have one shot at this,” she says. “If Anton realizes the intel was planted—”
“He won’t,” I cut in.
