We don’t talk anymore after that. I just keep… counting the mile markers.
I can’t do anything until I have more information. Until I know what this is.
Then… then I can weigh the pros and cons, make decisions… But for now, I have to just… wait.
And as my thoughts narrow, I stop counting exits. I stop counting breaths.
Because I didn’t choose this, but Icanchoose how to react to it.
I’m going to be there for him. Not to fix. Not to rescue. To listen. And to finally learn the truth, whatever that looks like.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts when the car begins to decelerate. Noah is taking the exit.
Even without the GPS chirping that our destination is on the right, we couldn’t have missed it.
Stone signage marks the entrance just beyond a tall chain-link fence that wraps the perimeter of a massive gray building—cold, imposing.
Security cameras dot the fenceline at regular intervals, silent sentries confirming what we already know.
Noah stops at the security gate and when he rolls down the window, warm air rushes in.
“This is Ashley Carrington, here to meet with Agent Sugarbaker,” he says.
The guard looks at me. “I need IDs for both of you.”
I already have my ID in hand, so I pass it to Noah. He pulls out his wallet, adds his, and hands them both over.
The guard studies them, then disappears into a small booth beside the gate.
We wait.
My breaths feel loud even over the slight breeze coming in through the window, over the flapping of flags, and the rush of highway traffic in the distance. I’m trying to hope for the best but be prepared for the worst… and yet none of this feels real.
The guard leans out of his window and hands our IDs back. “You’ll need to turn around,” he says. “Enter off Spruce Road. Follow the signs to the loading docks.”
Loading docks?
Noah and I look at each other. Just a brief pause, and then he nods, thanks the guard, and eases the car into a turn.
The second gate opens automatically as we approach. No stop this time. We’re waved through and directed to park near a single metal door marked Delivery Entrance.
The car goes silent, and we both just sit there for a beat longer than necessary.
Then, I exhale.
“I’ll leave the food for now,” I say, trying to ground myself even as I gather the tote I’d packed.
Then… we get out.
The door opens before we reach it. A woman stands there, composed, unreadable. She’s wearing a dark pantsuit and her hair is streaked with gray.
Still holding the door wide, she offers her hand.
“Mrs. Carrington. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
I think I recognize her voice, unexpectedly low, but I’m not sure. I take her hand. “And you are…?”
She smiles, professional and calm.
