"This is professional-grade spy equipment," Serenity said quietly. "Not something you pick up at a gadget store."
The room spun. I gripped the edge of Julia's desk, needing something solid to anchor me.
No. Please, no.
Stone took the drive carefully, holding it up to the light. "Custom work. High-end. The kind of thing intelligence agencies use."
Or assassins. Professional killers who need to smuggle information.
"Get it to Forrest." My voice sounded distant, like it was coming from someone else.
“I’m on it—but first—” He hesitated. “You should go home. Get some rest. I’ve got men watching your place. You’ll be safe.”
I closed my eyes. "Just go."
He left.
The silence that followed seemed to suck all the life out of me.
I sank into Julia's chair—the chair she'd sat in every day for weeks, sorting my mail, taking my calls, smiling at me across the office. The leather still held a faint trace of her perfume.
"I'm sorry, Quentin." Serenity's voice was gentle.
I didn't want her pity. Didn't want her sympathy. "It might not be what it looks like."
"It might not," she agreed. But her tone said she didn't believe it.
Neither did I.
A spy. She was a spy the whole time. Gathering intel. Probably everything on that drive could destroy me.
"Tell me about the bedroom," I asked, desperately grasping at straws. "The vision of us together. The bed, the linens, the lighting—there must be something that indicates past or future."
"Quentin..." Serenity's expression held sympathy. "Even if it was the future, we've already changed things by finding that drive. By investigating her. The future's not fixed—it's constantly shifting based on our choices."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
I dropped my head into my hands, elbows on the desk. Everything felt like it was unraveling.
"If it helps…" Serenity’s voice softened. “You both looked happy. Really happy. The kind of happiness that's hard to fake, even in a vision."
I looked up at her, searching her face for false hope. "And if it's real? If what we had was genuine?"
"Then it'll work out." A small smile touched her lips. "Look at me and Stone. He thought I was a con artist when we met. I thought he was an uptight killjoy. But here we are."
"And if it's not real?"
Her smile faded. "Then you'll do what needs to be done. You know that better than anyone."
"Shit," I said again, more quietly this time.
She moved toward the hallway, pausing in the threshold. "If it's true love, you'll find a way."
Then she was gone, her footsteps fading down the hall.
I stared at the empty space, the weight of everything crashing down on me. "Shit," I muttered.
