Page 112 of Damsel in Disguise

“You’ll inform Asher that we’re departing,” Adrian tells Clara, his tone clipped and formal.

She nods and veers off down the corridor.

Don’t tell me it’s his floor. My stomach drops.

“If you haven’t changed your mind, head to the ground floor, reception area. Strad is waiting for you,” Adrian says, glancing at me.

I nod, swallowing past the sudden dryness in my throat. This is Asher’s floor.

“I’m sorry I can’t assign additional security with you,” he says, sounding genuine as he steps closer. “You’re already flagged more than I’m comfortable with. Adding a detail only makes you easier to track. Plus, anyone I send without clearance becomes a liability the second you land. So I need you to stay alert and inform me if anything feels suspicious. Even the smallest ones.”

This is the first time I’m seeing Adrian speak so many words to me at once.

“I will,” I say softly and hug him.

It’s brief, but real. My fingers curl slightly into the fabric of his coat before I pull back. “Thank you.”

His expression shifts—just a fraction of warmth. Something almost… human.

“Please tell me you’re not going back to England,” he says one last time. “If it’s Oxford that you want, we can arrange placements elsewhere. Anywhere. You don’t have to be there physically.”

“It’s really alright, Adrian.” I step back, putting space where it belongs. “Just tell Mom and Dad that I love them… and miss them a lot.”

He reluctantly nods.

Then I turn on my heels, walking out. To where I belong.

Alistair Hertley.

36. DETAINED

ariella

Announcements bleed into each other overhead.

Footsteps drag across polished floors, the distant whine of engines vibrating through glass and steel.

The Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport should feel ordinary.

It doesn’t. There’s a pressure sitting just beneath my skin. It’s subtle but persistent, like the ghost of a touch pressing against the back of my neck.

I’m being watched.

My gaze drifts across the departure hall as if I’m simply another passenger killing time. People blur into motion—families clustered too close, businessmen glued to their phones, a child crying somewhere to my left.

Everything is too normal not to be suspicious.

Adrian’s voice lingers in the back of my mind, steady and firm. “Stay alert and inform me if anything feels suspicious.”

He should know better than to ask that of me.

I step forward when boarding is called and slip into the line smoothly. My pulse remains even, but the pressure doesn’t leave.

Something is going to happen. And the worst part is, I can’t predict what.

I reach the checkpoint.

“Passport,” the officer doesn’t look up when his expectant hand extends.