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The walls thathad kept her isolated and safe fell away, leaving her exposed, but in Derik'sarms, vulnerability didn't feel like weakness; it felt like coming home.
EPILOGUE
Morgan lay in thedarkness, a thin sheen of sweat cooling on her skin as the fan overhead stirredthe heavy night air. Derik’s chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm besideher, his breathing a quiet counterpoint to the pulsing silence that filled the room.She listened intently, tracing patterns of shadows on the ceiling cast by themoonlight peeking through the curtains. The peace she had sought was a fragilething, shattered by the nagging restlessness that now gripped her.
He had slippedinto sleep with ease, his conscience seemingly light, whereas Morgan felt everysinew in her body wound tight, every cell buzzing with a nameless energy. Itdidn’t matter how close she pulled Derik’s arm around her; the warmth of himcouldn't stave off the chill of thoughts unbidden - thoughts of those lost, thewomen who would never again breathe, laugh, or love. Their ghostly faces seemedto press against the edges of her consciousness.
Moving carefully,she disentangled herself from Derik's unconscious clutch and padded across theroom to where Skunk was sprawled out on a rug by the door. The dog lifted hishead as she approached, his tail thumping against the floor. She sat beside him,running her fingers through his short, coarse fur. The loyalty anduncomplicated affection in his eyes was a balm she had often relied on,especially in times of unrest, like now.
Her gaze driftedto the window, where the moon hung low in an obsidian sky. Everything wasdifferent now. With Derik. With her father… she realized then that life wouldnever be the same for any of them.
Anxiously, shepadded across the room, her hand reaching out to grasp the phone that satcharging on her bedside table. Its screen lit up at her touch, piercing thedarkness with its artificial glow.
A notificationblinked at her—a message from Thomas.
Her heart gave aninvoluntary jolt.
"Callme" - the words stood stark against the backdrop of unread emails andupdates, demanding her attention. Thomas, who held keys to so many locked doorsin her mind, who dangled truths just out of reach. What did he want now? Andwhy did she feel this trepidation, as if reaching out to him could unravel thethreads of progress she and Derik had so painstakingly woven?
Morgan glancedback at Derik's unconscious form, peaceful and oblivious to the turmoil withinher. For a moment, she envied him that tranquility. With a sigh, she turnedaway from the bed and its occupant, her thumb hovering over the screen,debating whether to plunge once more into the depths from which she had onlyjust emerged. Thomas’s message was a siren call, one she knew she couldn’tignore—not if she wanted to keep the tenuous grip she had on her ownredemption.
Morgan's fingersclutched the fabric of her housecoat, drawing it tighter around her as if itcould shield her from the night's whispers. She eased her way out of thebedroom and navigated through the shadow-draped hallways with a practicedsilence that spoke of her agent training. The floorboards underfoot knew betterthan to betray her presence, each step taken with an ingrained stealth that hadbecome second nature.
Reaching the backdoor, she hesitated, the cool glass a barrier between the warmth of resolvedpassion and the chill of unresolved mysteries. Her hand paused on the doorknob,the metal cold to the touch, reflecting the shivers that anticipation sent downher spine. With a gentle twist, she slipped through the opening and into thebackyard, the night air embracing her like an old but unwelcome friend.
The moon was asilent sentinel in the sky, its luminescent gaze casting elongated shadowsacross the lawn. Morgan felt the grass dance lightly against her bare feet, thedew-kissed blades cool and yielding. There was a tranquility here in thesolitude, beneath the celestial dome, that stood in stark contrast to theturmoil broiling within. She moved away from the house, not wanting Derik’sslumber to be disturbed by her clandestine conversation, nor wanting the wallsto hear secrets they couldn't keep.
She stopped atthe center of the yard, beneath the watchful eye of the moon, and dialedThomas. The phone barely had time to trill before he answered, his voiceimmediate and sharp in the quiet night.
"Congratulations,Morgan," Thomas said without preamble, and she could almost picture hisslight, sardonic smile on the other end. "You've passed my finaltest."
Morgan's grip onthe phone tightened, and she felt the bite of the cool plastic against herskin. "What are you talking about, Thomas?" Her voice was low, ablend of wariness and frustration.
"By notturning me in, by keeping my secret from the FBI, you've shown you're not justanother pawn—they can trust you, which means I can trust you." His wordswere a riddle wrapped in confidence, yet she caught the underlying note ofsincerity.
"Trust me?After everything you've put me through?" Morgan's retort was tinged withthe bitterness of past betrayals. Yet, she remained still, a statue carved fromthe night, knowing full well the gravity of what Thomas might reveal.
"Exactlybecause of that," Thomas replied smoothly. "You see, I know whoframed you. And now, I'm willing to share that information with you."
The revelationhung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The menwho had turned her life into a decade-long nightmare, whose shadows had loomedover her every move, were close to being unmasked. It was the breakthrough shehad been chasing, the vindication that had eluded her grasp.
"Thomas,"Morgan started, her voice steadier than she felt, "why should I believeyou now?"
"Because,Morgan," Thomas said, and there was a weight to his words, "I'm readyto bring down the house of cards. And I need you to help me do it."
Morgan’s fingerscurled tighter around the phone, her knuckles as pale as the sliver of moonabove. She paced the dew-kissed grass, the chill of the night seeping throughthe thin fabric of her housecoat. The sensation was a stark contrast to thewarmth that had enveloped her just moments ago, back inside with Derik.
"Thomas,"she pressed, her voice a low growl into the receiver, "if you think forone second I'm going to play your cryptic games—"
"Easy,Morgan," Thomas interjected, his tone disarming yet firm. "This isn’ta game. It's real, and it’s dangerous. You need to see what I have with yourown eyes."
"Then tellme, dammit!" The urgency in her voice betrayed the facade of control shefought to maintain. The scars of her past injustices itched under her skin, aconstant reminder of the betrayal that had cost her a decade of her life.
"Face-to-face,Morgan," he insisted. "Too many ears are listening, too many eyesprying. It has to be in person, somewhere we can talk without the risk of beingoverheard."
A sigh escapedher lips, fogging the air momentarily. Morgan stopped pacing and looked up atthe dark silhouette of her house, where safety and the semblance of normalcylay just beyond the walls. She could slip back into bed, pretend this call wasjust another facet of her fraught dreams. But the lure of justice, the chanceto clear her name and expose the architects of her downfall, was too potent toignore.
"Fine,"she relented, her voice a whisper now. "When?"
