She wanted to say yes. Wanted to maintain the professional boundaries they'd both carefully preserved over three years of working together. But sitting alone in her apartment, with Miami dangling before her like both a prize and a threat, she couldn't quite manage the lie.
"I don't know," she whispered.
Delgado was quiet for a moment, letting her admission hang in the air. "I've known you since you were twenty-four years old, Isla. Watched you build walls around yourself after your parents died, after every hard case and difficult loss. You're one of the best investigators I've ever trained, but you're also one of the loneliest people I know."
The words stung because they were true. Isla set down her wine glass, pressing her palm against her chest where an ache had formed.
"The Mendez case nearly destroyed you," Delgado continued quietly. "Not because you made a mistake—we all make mistakes. But because you were alone with the guilt, alone with the weight of it. You'd pushed everyone away except me and Claire, and even we could barely reach you."
"I know."
"So my question isn't whether you should take the Miami position," he said. "My question is: are you still alone? Or has Duluth given you something worth staying for?"
Isla closed her eyes, thinking about James's steady presence across her desk. The way he brought her coffee and made sure she ate. The looks they exchanged during interrogations, the unspoken communication that came from knowing each other so well. The almost-touches and careful distance they'd maintained, both aware of something growing between them but neither willing to name it.
"I thought something might happen between us," she said softly. "But it's been three years, and nothing ever has."
"Have you wanted it to?"
The question caught her off guard. Had she? She'd been so focused on the work, on proving herself, on catching Brune, that she'd never let herself fully consider the possibility.
But now, facing the prospect of leaving, the answer crystallized with painful clarity.
"Yes," she admitted. "I think I have."
"Then maybe," Delgado said gently, "you need to figure out if you're okay with walking away from that possibility before you've even explored it."
They talked for another twenty minutes—about the Brune manhunt, about Delgado's health (which he downplayed, though she caught the slight tremor in his voice that suggested the Parkinson's was progressing), about Claire's latest research project in Seattle. Normal things, comfortable things, the kind of conversation that reminded Isla why Delgado had always been more than just a mentor.
When they finally hung up, Isla remained on her couch, staring out at the dark expanse of Lake Superior.
Miami meant sunshine and ocean breezes, palm trees and Art Deco architecture. It meant her old apartment—or another one like it—with its balcony overlooking the bay, her favorite Cuban restaurant three blocks from the office, the familiar rhythms of a city she knew like her own heartbeat.
But it also meant leaving behind the life she'd built here. The cases she'd solved, the victims she'd found justice for. Kate's steady leadership and unwavering support. The docks she'd learned to read like a second language, understanding their secrets and patterns.
And James.
James, who'd never pushed her, never demanded more than she could give. Who'd respected her boundaries while slowly,carefully, becoming someone she couldn't imagine her days without.
She thought about the way his eyes had crinkled with concern this morning when he'd noticed she hadn't eaten. The solid comfort of his presence beside her during the press conference. The almost-touch of his hand on her arm, pulled back at the last moment but leaving warmth in its wake.
Three years, and nothing had happened between them.
But was that because they didn't want it to? Or because they'd both been too careful, too professional, too afraid of risking what they already had?
Isla pulled out her phone, scrolling to James's contact. Her thumb hovered over the call button.
What would she even say?I might be leaving for Miami, and I just realized I don't want to.Three years of working together and I think I've been in denial about having feelings for you?
She set the phone down, her heart pounding.
The smart thing would be to take the promotion. Return to Miami with her head held high, proof that she'd overcome her failure. Build the career she'd always planned, without the complication of whatever was—or wasn't—happening between her and James.
The safe thing would be to maintain the distance they'd established, to not risk their partnership by acknowledging feelings that might not be reciprocated.
But as Isla sat in her apartment with the cold seeping through the windows and Lake Superior's dark waters stretching to the horizon, she wondered if she was tired of always choosing the smart thing, the safe thing.
Maybe it was time to choose the thing that made her heart race and her chest ache with possibility.
