Page 111 of Keller

That won’t last.

At some point, the call ends. Ridge is already drafting instructions before I look up from the window.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes briefly, forcing my thoughts into order. Savannah. Charlton Grant. I still haven’t decided how to use it.

And then, without invitation, Quinn.

She doesn’t belong in this. Not in override windows and metadata pulls. I should keep her separate from it. Instead, my mind goes to her unrelentingly.

To her apartment, to the way she looks at me like she’s measuring something she hasn’t decided how to define. It’s inconvenient timing to realize that somewhere between Savannah and this flight home, she became the one place I exhale.

Ridge's phone vibrates again. He glances at the screen.

"Counsel's ready for a preliminary call," he says out loud to no one in particular. Or, maybe he's talking to me, I don't know.

He answers, and the conversation shifts to legal strategy. Document preservation. Scope clarification requests. Cooperative posture without admission.

Ridge ends his call. "Containment strategy is forming. The attorneys are going to be proactive and request clarification on scope while Wells is coming up with a plan to attack this from the backend and choke it before it even gets to walk."

"Standard playbook."

"It works."

The plane begins its descent. New Orleans appears below, the river winding through city lights. The familiar sprawl of home.

"I'm heading to headquarters," Ridge says. "Wells is already pulling the October files. I want you there by?—"

"Not tonight."

He stops and looks at me.

"I need a few hours."

"Keller. This is?—"

"I know what this is." My voice stays level. "I'll be there tomorrow. Early with a fresh perspective. I don't belong in the initial stages of this. Come up with a plan, and I'll toe the line, whatever it is you tell me I need to do."

Ridge studies my face, reading me the way I read everyone else.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere quiet."

He doesn't push. That's not his style. Ridge trusts me to handle myself. To show up when it matters.

The wheels touch down, and the cabin shudders with controlled deceleration.

Ridge gathers his things. "Tomorrow, seven sharp, unless you hear otherwise."

"I'll be there."

Ridge exits first, a black SUV already idling on the tarmac to collect him. I remain seated for another minute, letting thequiet settle inside the cabin after the hum of engines and clipped phone calls.

Quinn’s name surfaces in my mind with an unexpected steadiness. It is not impulse or distraction. It is something more deliberate than that.

I pull out my phone.

Hey. I ended up coming home early. Up for a beer?