“Why are you sitting in the dark?”
That question hits the detonator.
“The dark? Why am I sitting in the dark, you ask? I don’t know, Anton… Why don’t you tell me why I’m sitting in the dark?” I stand slowly.
Instantly, his features shift. His nostrils flare at the sight of me.
“Did you send the bodycam image to GhostEye?” My voice wants to shake, but I steady it.
Anton plants his feet like something’s about to hit him hard. Which answers my question.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Why did you go behind my back?”
He drags a hand across his jaw, tension flickering in his eyes. “It was wrong, but my thought was just to…”
“…Help me?” I spit out the word like it burns. “Is that it? Take over because poor little Freya can’t follow her own damn leads?”
His brow knots. “That’s not what happened. And that’s not how I think…”
“Oh? Then explain it to me.” I work hard to contain the ache of betrayal. He promised me I was the lead here, and he took over. “Explain why Rio knew and I didn’t. Why probably everyone in the ranch office knew, but not me, the one running the case.”
He steps closer. Carefully.
“Listen, these are our friends. I wanted them to look first before giving you another task to manage if it was nothing.”
I interrupt him with a humorless laugh. “Wow. Incredible. You decided I couldn’t handle the work?”
“I didn’t want to waste your time. I was trying to protect you from the stress.”
“Well, congratulations,” I snap. “You did the exact opposite.”
The ache in my chest flares hotter. I finally earn a career that’s worth a damn, and he thinks I can’t handle the stress.
Yes, it’s not easy being pregnant and losing sleep over a case. But I. Can. Handle. It.
“You should’ve told me,” I press down so my voicedoesn’t rise. “I’m not incompetent. I’m not some wide-eyed girl asking questions in the passenger seat anymore.”
“I never said you were.”
“You didn’t have to,” I choke out. “You acted like it.”
And God, the worst part is how familiar it feels—that subtle, silent vote of no confidence. The same one I’ve been outrunning since I was a kid. The same one so many women who look like me have to fight time and time again.
I breathe deeply. I know this isn’t the same. I know the intention wasn’t to belittle, but I’m triggered, and the adrenaline won’t stop racing.
He takes a step toward me, arms open as if he’s going to gather me in them. “Freya, I swear to God, that’s not how I see you. It’s not even close.”
“Don’t.” I raise my finger in the air. I try to close the drawbridge, but when our gazes meet, his blue eyes are filled with sincerity. “Don’t even give me a compliment… I’m sick of how good it feels, and you don’t even mean…”
My throat tightens so fast, it physically hurts.
“I mean everything I say to you.” His voice is so low, I can hardly hear it. “Every damn thing. And I should have run the idea by you. That’s on me. That’s my screw-up.” His voice is rough. “Nobody thinks you’re anything but capable.”
The words should soothe. They should land like a balm. But instead, they hit the one place inside me that’s already cracked.
Becausebeing capableis the thing I never stop fighting to prove.
His words hit the exact bruise I spend my life pretending isn’t there, revealing the softer, uglier truth underneath—the exhaustion, the fear, the ache I’ve kept welded shut since the day I put on this badge. Hell, every day of my goddamn life.
