Sin looks away like gratitude makes him uncomfortable. “Final rule,” he says, stepping toward the door. “If you get the urge to be brave, be smart instead.”
I follow him, heart pounding. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Sin glances back at me. “With you, they tend to be.”
I glare. “Rude.”
He opens the door, scans outside, and gestures for me to move first. I step through the door and into the morning air as we head out. The world is pale with early light, the trees washed in gray-blue, the quiet still heavy. We head to the airport, boarding a plane that sits waiting for us.
Sin moves beside me like a shadow made solid. And even though fear is buzzing under my skin, even though I know this could go sideways, I also know this. I’m not alone anymore. Not with him at my side. Not with his steady presence making my heart believe, even in the middle of betrayal and danger, that we might actually win.
THIRTEEN
SIN
I’ve had a lot of bad ideas in my life. Kicking doors in foreign cities on half intel. Trusting people who smiled too easily. Thinking I could outrun what I carry.
This one probably takes the cake.
Rowan sits beside me in the passenger seat of a nondescript sedan we picked up after the plane, her hood up, hair tucked, posture tight. She’s quiet in that way that tells me her mind is moving faster than her mouth can keep up with. Anger, hurt, determination, all braided together into a single rope she’s holding onto so she doesn’t unravel.
The newspaper building looms ahead, lights mostly off, the parking lot empty except for a single car near the employee entrance.
I park in the shadow of a tree line, cut the engine, and listen. The world outside is still. No traffic. No voices. Just the faint buzz of a streetlight and the slow hiss of wind through palmettos.
Rowan turns to me. “He’ll be here.”
It’s not a question.
“Maybe,” I say.
“He always stays late when something big is about to run,” she replies. Her voice goes tight. “He always said the truth deserves the extra hours.” I don’t like the way her eyes shine when she says it. Betrayal is a blade that cuts clean and deep.
I check my watch, then the street again. “Remember the rules.”
Rowan nods once. “Line of sight. No heroics. You say move, I move.”
“Good.”
She exhales, then adds, quieter, “I can do this.”
I glance at her. She’s pale under the parking lot glow, but her chin is lifted. Brave, even when it costs. I’m falling for her. That’s the part I don’t say out loud. I don’t know what happens after this, if there even is an after. But right now, the only thing that matters is getting her out alive. I pull my cap lower, check my waistband, and step out. Rowan follows, staying close, her movements controlled like she’s been practicing. She has. I made sure of it.
The back door is a metal service entrance. Keypad. Camera above it. I angle Rowan under the camera’s blind spot and move in, fast. I’ve already looped the system earlier. Thirty seconds of dead feed. Not much time.
I punch in the code we lifted from an old maintenance request log. The lock clicks.
Rowan’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re terrifying.”
“Move,” I murmur.
We slip inside and pull the door shut behind us.
The newspaper building at night smells like old ink, stale coffee, and paper dust. The hum of servers and emergency lights makes the halls feel like a sleeping animal. Fluorescent fixtures flicker low, casting everything in pale bands.
Rowan leads silently, but I keep my body angled to cover her, my attention scanning for cameras, doors, anything out of place. We pass the empty newsroom. Desks with half-drunk mugs. A bulletin board with deadlines and pinned photos. A whiteboard scrawled with story ideas. Rowan’s jaw tightens as she sees it, like this is where she belongs and someone tried to rip it away.
I motion her toward the corridor that leads to the executive offices. She nods and stays close, breath shallow. Halfway down the hall, voices drift through a closed door.
