"There's something else," I say, deciding to pivot to information I can actually share. "I found evidence of something bigger during yesterday's warehouse surveillance."
Both men lean forward, instantly alert. I catch Sherlock's eyes narrowing slightly. My pulse quickens, but I keep my face neutral. I mentally rehearse my next sentences, scrubbing them of anything that would reveal my sources.
"Human trafficking," I begin. The raw facts should be enough. No need to mention how I confirmed them. "Mixed with magickal beings. I observed transport vehicles, cage-like structures."
I watch Sherlock as I speak, noting how his eyes track my expressions. He's looking for tells—the slight shifts that would indicate I'm holding back. And I am, but years of field work have taught me how to compartmentalize. I focus on the anger I genuinely feel about the trafficking, letting that emotion color my words naturally.
"Jesus," Ghost breathes. "How many?"
"Hard to say from my position, but at least a dozen. Maybe more." I take a sip of coffee, using the moment to organize my thoughts. "This isn't just creature containment. It's an organized and large operation and I’m nearly certain the Enclave is running it."
Sherlock's expression darkens. "The Enclave? Why would they be trafficking their own people?"
I have so much more information than I can share, but revealing any of it means revealing sources I can't protect. Sources that would also incriminate me.
I've lied to them before. it's part of the job, compartmentalization and need-to-know—but this is different. These aren't agency secrets. They're mine. Personal.
Ghost would understand the gray areas, might even back me if he knew about Fen. But Sherlock operates in black and white. Fraternization with a non-human subject would be an unforgivable breach of protocol in his eyes.
It should scare me how easily I've crossed this line. Instead, all I feel is a fierce determination to protect what Fen and I have started while still bringing down the trafficking ring.
I can do both. I have to do both.
"I don't know, but human trafficking is the lowest form of disgusting. I want them shut down."
The room falls quiet.
Ghost finally breaks the silence. "Let’s meet with Hayes and get this approved. I’m with you."
I blink, momentarily thrown by the immediate support. No demands for more evidence. Just... trust. A knot forms in my throat.
I don't deserve this kind of loyalty while holding back crucial information. But I accept it anyway, because we need to stop the trafficking ring regardless of how we got here.
"Good," I say, hoping my voice doesn't betray the tangle of gratitude and guilt. "Those people can't wait."
Ghost studies my face with uncomfortable intensity. "You're different about this one. More... invested."
Dangerous territory. I force my expression neutral. "Human trafficking pisses me off."
"It pisses all of us off," Sherlock agrees. "But there's something else."
My stomach drops like I've hit free-fall without a parachute.
He sees it. He always sees it. The slight hesitation before I speak. The carefully constructed explanation. The truth buried beneath half-truths.
Sherlock's gaze dissects me layer by layer, and I feel my pulse hammer in my throat. One wrong move—one flicker of guilt in my eyes—and he'll know I'm holding back something critical.
I reach for the anger that's always been my shield. Real anger about the trafficking. Safe anger that doesn't reveal anything about Fen or what we did in my shower last night.
"I'm just tired of being on the bench. This is a real chance to make a difference. Strike a gut punch to the Enclave," I say, letting frustration bleed into my voice. The best lies are wrapped in truth. "I've missed you both."
A beat of silence. Sherlock's eyes haven't left my face, testing the truth of my words against whatever internal scale he uses.
"Fair enough. We're glad to be back with you too," Ghost says, a wide grin breaking across his face.
The tension snaps like a cut wire. Ghost has always been my buffer, intentionally or not. His easy acceptance creates space for Sherlock to back down without losing face.
But Sherlock's slight nod tells me this isn't over. Just postponed. He's filed away his suspicions for later examination.
