"Stay," I say quietly.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I mean after this case. After everything settles." I look at her directly. "Stay with me."
She searches my eyes, reading what I'm offering. Not just tonight. Not just until the danger passes.
Something permanent.
"Yes," she whispers.
I kiss her again, slower this time. Sealing the promise.
We drift into sleep wrapped around each other, safe for the first time in days.
Dawn breaks cold and clear outside, frost glittering on the window. Sela's sprawled across my chest, one leg hooked over mine, her hair a dark tangle against my shoulder. Her breath ghosts warm against my collarbone. The weight of her grounds me in a way I didn't know I needed.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Calder. I ease out from under Sela, grab the phone, step into the main room.
"Wells."
"Marc. I need you to sit down."
My blood goes cold. "What happened?"
"Haywood's dead. Murdered in federal custody last night."
The words hit like a gut punch. "How?"
"Marshals found him in his cell this morning. Poisoned. Autopsy's pending, but preliminary assessment suggests ricin or something similar. Fast-acting, delivered sometime after dinner." Her voice is tight. "DOJ had him in isolation. No contact except his attorney and one meal delivery from a vetted service. Someone still got to him."
I grip the phone harder. "The attorney?"
"Checked out. Public defender, no known connections to organized crime or trafficking networks. Meal service is under investigation, but Marc?" She pauses. "Whoever did this had access to federal facilities. This wasn't some outside contractor. This was inside."
"The Marshal."
"Has to be. Haywood threatened to burn the network down if he didn't get extracted. The Marshal made sure he never got the chance." Another pause. "Cara pulled data from Haywood's encrypted devices before he died. Communications going back years. He was telling the truth about never meeting The Marshal directly. Everything's coded, routed through dead drops and burner accounts."
"Can you trace them?"
"Working on it. But the data confirms there are other agents in the network. Several more, maybe dozens. All using code names, all taking orders from The Marshal." Her voice drops. "Haywood was middle management. These communications suggest The Marshal has authority to move federal investigations, reassign agents, bury evidence, and apparently eliminate witnesses in federal custody."
The implications settle over me like ice water. "We're not hunting one corrupt FBI supervisor."
"No. We're hunting someone who controls the entire system. Someone with reach into the Marshals Service, federal lockups, maybe DOJ itself." Pause. "Someone who can kill a witness in isolation and walk away clean."
"Send me what you've got. We'll figure out next steps."
"Be careful, Marc. If The Marshal killed Haywood in federal custody, none of us are safe. They're cleaning house, and we're on the list." She pauses. "Watch your back."
She hangs up. The line goes dead.
Sela appears in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in my shirt. "What is it?"
I turn to face her. "Haywood's dead. Murdered in federal custody last night."
Her face goes pale. "How?"
