Hudson cracks jokes about my bathroom and closet being too pristine for a single man. Pippa laughs at his antics. The sound loosens something in my chest I didn’t realize was clenched.
We’re exhausted. The bone-deep kind that settles after adrenaline burns out and the emotional hangover takes its toll. We climb into my California King bed together like it’s the most natural thing we’ve ever done. It feels right they’re here, that I don’t have to choose, don’t have to draw lines or push anyone away. Tonight, at least, there’s no fear of that.
Hudson sprawls like he owns the place, familiar as breathing.
Pippa hesitates for half a second before curling in between uslike she’s always belonged there. I wrap an arm around her without thinking. Hudson shifts closer, solid and warm on her other side.
Pippa’s breathing evens out first. Hudson follows not long after. I lie listening to the rhythm. The steady calm of shared space settles deep in my chest.
Nothing has felt this right in a long time.
Maybe ever.
For once, the weight I carry doesn’t feel so heavy.
TWENTY-FOUR
traction
Hudson
Monday Afternoon, Day 33
Completing normal tasks at the office feels like a sigh of relief after the chaos of the past couple of weeks. The mundane distraction is more than welcome. I clear emails, sit through a briefing that could’ve been an email, and skim a report I already know by heart. Muscle memory takes over, giving my mind something to hold onto.
Last night was heavy.
Sisters.
Maribel Island.
Jared fucking Whiteman and that cunt Sophie Delacroix, who is even more evil than I realized.
Young girls raised in the shadows of society’s worst sins, inheriting baggage no one should have to carry. Choosing to make those predators pay when no one else would.
As heavy as it all is, I can’t shake the sense that something fundamental shifted last night. Like a fault line finally crackedwide open, too big to ignore any longer, and the earth has reluctantly settled in its new place.
Written in the fucking stars, if I were to be poetic about it.
Waking up with them—both of them—easy, content…felt fan-fucking-tastic. Life-altering. It’s taking concentrated efforts to avoid wearing the biggest smile of my life on my face all day today. I managed to fall for two very complicated, stubborn, guarded people. But last night, walls came tumbling down. And now we have a chance. That’s more than I want to think about. It’s too good and in my life good things have been few and fleeting. It’s hard to believe any of this shit is real.
So yeah, work. Even if I’ve come to hate working at the FBI. Same corrupt fuckers the mafia services, just dressed up as public servants—at least the mob doesn’t lie about what it is.
I wait until just before lunch before approaching Luna. “SCIF?” I keep my voice casual as I step into her line of sight.
She studies my face for half a second, then nods.
We don’t speak as we walk.
Our friendship was cemented over many long hours in these halls. I know it can bounce back from its recent fractures, and I intend to make that clear.
We stop at a reinforced door marked SCIF,Authorized Personnel Only. I scan my badge and the lock gives a soft, electronic chirp. The door seals shut behind us with a heavyclick.
We remain silent as I move with practiced efficiency, opening an app on my phone to scan for bugs. I do a slow sweep of the space, methodical, scanning the vents, ceiling corners, even the baseboards. The faint pulse of blue light from my phone screen bounces across the walls as I move around the room.
Just because a room says it’s secure, doesn’t mean it’s not bugged.
Luna stays out of my way, drifting toward the far corner I’ve already inspected.
