“Can’t sleep,” she replied without raising her head. “Besides, this is the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not completely useless in this house.”
I ignored the pain and frustration in her tone and the way her words stung more than they should.
After a beat, I asked, “Did you find anything interesting?”
“What I find interesting is you handing me edited files and partial cases and then expecting me to find something ‘interesting.’” She air-quoted the word, finally meeting my gaze.
Guilty.
“These aren’t even real cases,” she added, her voice laced with a hint of frustration. “And the few that are have the important pages torn out.”
I stood a couple of paces in front of her, a hand in my pocket. I didn’t realize there was a crooked smirk tugging at my lips until she mentioned it—in that direct, unfiltered way of hers.
“Did I say something funny?” Her brows arched, a faint scowl setting on her face.
I didn’t respond, didn’t take my eyes off her either.
She held my gaze a second longer than necessary before breaking eye contact. “Anyway.” She exhaled sharply, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Whoever edited the Maren file removed the destination but left the fuel. The range doesn’t match the domestic route. At all.”
I glanced down, scanning the documents scattered around her. Her handwriting was small and precise, pleasing to look at. I noticed she used a lot of brackets, asterisks, and question marks to group her thoughts.
She didn’t write like an amateur. She wrote like a professional who knew exactly what she was doing.
Impressive.
“There are lots of inconsistencies in this case. For instance, the witness designation on page nine.” Ellie rose to her feet. “Witness C appeared in two separate interviews conducted five days apart. Yet the phrasing in both is exactly the same.”
I stared at her in silence, watching the way her skin glowed in the warm light. Faint creases formed on her forehead as she spoke, demonstrating with her hands.
Her expressive hazel eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t describe. Her lips were moving, but I was too distracted by her to pay attention to her words. I should. But I couldn’t.
She paused, and I noticed she wasn’t speaking anymore. Her eyes were fixed on me, a suspicious look on her face. That’s when I snapped back to reality.
“Did you even hear a word I said?” she demanded, hands on her waist.
In all honesty, I stopped listening the second she rose to her feet.
With a straight face, I looked right at her, my voice low and even. “It’s late. You should get some rest.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m fine,” she replied. “I’mnot the one who zoned out mid-conversation.”
Fair enough.
Her gaze dropped to the collar of my shirt, and her eyes narrowed. “Wait, is that blood?”
I didn’t respond.
She took a step forward. “Yours or someone else’s?”
I wasn’t sure what I heard in her tone: concern or disdain?
My fingers combed through my hair. “Good night, Ellie.”
She locked eyes with me, her expression almost unreadable. Silence fell between us, and in that stillness, I realized that the force drawing me to her was beyond the physical.
I was drawn not only to her body but also to her mind and soul. I felt a strange connection to her, one I couldn’t explain even if I tried.
She lowered her gaze and cleared her throat, as if to ease the growing tension in the air.
