Page 30 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

Max is standing by the window, arms crossed, looking skeptical and assessing in the way he looks at everything he can’t immediately control. That’s just Max, nothing unusual there.

Finn, though. Finn has been off this entire meeting.

I noticed it the moment we walked in. His body was rigid, the color drained from his face. He barely spoke during the entire briefing, when usually we can’t get him to shut up. And his eyes kept drifting to her, then snapping away, like he couldn’t decide whether to look at her or pretend she didn’t exist.

Usually, Finn is the easy one. The one who finds humor in everything and makes everyone around him feel comfortable without even trying.

Today he sat through an hour-long meeting and said maybe ten words.

“Well,” I say, breaking the silence. “I have a feeling she’ll figure out who’s behind this in record time.”

Finn doesn’t respond or even seem to hear me.

Max notices too. His eyes narrow slightly as he looks between Finn and the door. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Finn’s head snaps toward him. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to say something. But he just shakes his head and looks away, running a hand through his hair in a gesture I recognize as barely contained frustration.

“Nothing.”

It’s clearly not nothing. In twenty years of friendship, I’ve rarely seen Finn like this. He doesn’t brood or go silent.

“I don’t trust her,” Max says, cutting through my thoughts.

I drag my attention away from Finn and back to Max. He’s still at the window, staring out at the grounds, arms crossed tight against his chest.

“You don’t trust anyone, Max.” I settle into one of the leather chairs, crossing my ankle over my knee. “She’s an agent. She’s here to do a job. That’s all that matters.”

“I suppose Griffin did vouch for her,” he says begrudgingly.

“Exactly. Unless you don’t trust him?”

“I trust Griffin. But her...” He turns from the window. “Something’s off.”

“She’s a spy, Max. Her entire job is built on secrets.” I lean back, studying him. “What specifically bothers you?”

“I... I don’t know.” Max usually thinks three steps ahead. Seeing him struggle for words is unsettling enough on its own. “Something about the way she looked at us. Like she was calculating how to take us apart. Piece by piece.”

“Isn’t that exactly what we hired her to do? Take apart our security problem?”

Max doesn’t answer. His jaw works, like he’s chewing on words he can’t quite spit out.

I glance between them. Max, wound tight as a spring, and Finn, uncharacteristically brooding, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Neither of them willing or able to say what’s actually going on.

“Well,” I say, pushing myself up from the chair, “I’ll leave you both to figure out why a perfectly competent professional has you tied up in knots. I have actual work to do.”

Finn lets out a sound that might be a snort, might be a scoff, hard to tell. Max says nothing, already turning back to the window.

“I’ll be in the lab if you need me,” I say from the doorway. “See you both at home tonight. Try not to spiral before dinner.”

The walk to the research wing takes me through the heart of Synthera, past the administrative offices, down the corridor lined with photos documenting the company’s history.

I pause, as I sometimes do, at a particular photograph near the end of the hall.

Three young men in graduation robes, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera like they own the world. Max on the left, already stern even at eighteen, but with something lighter in his eyes that the years have dimmed. Finn on the right, that same infectious smile he still wears, though the dimples are deeper now. And me in the middle, looking slightly bewildered that I’m standing next to these two at all.

Ashford Academy. Sixteen years ago.

God, we were so young.