She downs her scotch. “I met my husband during an op. Been married ten years now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Director Han is married to a career DOJ official.
“She’s a civilian.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She nods thoughtfully. “And that’s why you’re quitting.”
I shake my head. “No, ma’am. I’m quitting because I’m burned out. I’ve been at that precipice for a while. But, honestly,if it wasn’t for her, I’d stay, power through it. I need to go so I can win her back before it’s too late.”
My boss furrows her brows. “Ruiz says she held herself together. Says she forgave you.”
My throat tightens. “That doesn’t mean she’s going to let me—the real me—into her life.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she agrees. “Damn it, Dom, you’re one of the best. We don’t get many agents who can disappear the way you do.”
I think of Enya’s laughter, of her ability to see me even when I was trying to hide. “I don’t want to disappear anymore.”
“You know, this door doesn’t reopen, no matter who your brother-in-law is,” she warns.
“I know.”
“Alright then, finish your scotch and leave your weapon, badge, blah blah with my assistant, and get the fuck out.”
I finish my scotch, as she ordered, and rise. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s been an honor.”
She smiles faintly. “I want an invite to the wedding.”
“If there’s one, yes, absolutely.”
“There will be.”
I want to believe her, but what I did to Enya isn’t something you can come back from.
It was…morally reprehensible.
Fuck.
“There will be,” she repeats. “I know you, Dom, you only lose when you want to. And you don’t want to lose her.”
9
WHAT COMES NEXT?
DOMINIC
When I get home, I reach for a Macallan twelve—partly to erase the taste of Islay smoke, that peat-heavy punishment I swallowed in Director Han’s office, and partly because I need the crutch.
Tonight isn’t about savoring anything. It’s about dulling the edges.
I chose Enya, and I’ll own whatever comes next.
But I fear that what comes next is me alone. No job. No clearance. No woman. No purpose that comes with a badge or a mission brief. Just silence where there used to be structure.
I pour a finger of the amber liquid into a glass, and down it like a shot. It burns.
I couldn’t go to her as a special agent. Showing up with one foot still planted in that world would’ve been cowardice disguised as compromise. Hedging my bets. Keeping an exit strategy. Telling myself I chose her while still holding on to the thing that broke her in the first place.
