I feel… targeted.
They want me messy.
That’s the first thing I understand.
Scared people make fast decisions.
Guilty people make stupid ones.
And right now—they want me to be both.
I sit at the table, my laptop open in front of me. Dark screen. Offline. Safe.
Useless.
Someone is in the hospital because of me.
The thought hits harder the second time.
Because now it sticks.
And somewhere else—someone is dismantling my work like it never mattered.
Like I never mattered.
Aaron stands across the room.
Not pacing. Not hovering.
But present.
Solid.
Dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with the enemy.
“They didn’t do this because I ran,” I say quietly.
“No,” he answers. “They did it because you’re dangerous to them. they aren’t sure what all you didn’t delete.”
My throat tightens.
Not from fear.
From the weight of that word.
Dangerous.
“I don’t want anyone else paying for this,” I whisper.
He steps closer.
Not enough to touch.
Enough to be felt.
“You think hiding will stop that?”
“No,” I admit.
