By the third step, sweat had beaded along my hairline. By the fifth, my breathing had grown labored. Each step required concentration, a careful transfer of weight, a moment to steady myself before continuing. The staircase had never seemed so long.
When I was about halfway down, I heard a door open. Ellie emerged from what they called the command room, tablet in hand. She looked up, mouth opening as if to offer help, but something in my expression must have stopped her. She pressed her lips together, nodded once, and simply watched as I navigated the remaining steps on my own.
I appreciated that she didn't rush to assist me. In the past few days, I'd lost control of nearly every aspect of my life. This small act of independence—making it down these stairs on my own terms, at my own pace—felt necessary, even if my ankle throbbed in protest with each step.
I reached the bottom of the stairs, my ankle screaming in protest. The black and white marble tiles of the foyer felt cold through my socks. I paused to catch my breath, leaning against the carved banister.
Ellie glanced up from her tablet. "Cam has something for you in the living room."
I raised an eyebrow. "Something for me?"
She gestured toward the doorway with a tilt of her head.
I limped across the foyer, curiosity momentarily overriding my pain. When I stepped into the living room, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Cam sat on the floor surrounded by what looked like a small army of kittens. Two of them tumbled over each other in a cardboard box lined with a soft blueblanket, while an orange tabby with white paws batted at Cam's bootlaces. A thin calico mother cat watched from the safety of the couch, her tail twitching occasionally.
"Oh my god," I whispered.
Cam looked up, her usually stoic face softening at the edges. She didn't smile exactly, but something in her eyes lightened.
"Found them outside," she said, her voice low and gravelly from disuse. "Mother was half-starved."
I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. The tension I'd been carrying since waking up this morning melted away as I watched the kittens tumble and play. I'd always loved cats, their independence and quiet affection speaking to something in me.
"They're beautiful," I said, limping toward the nearest wingback chair.
Cam watched me struggle but didn't offer help. She understood something about pride that the others sometimes missed. Once I lowered myself into the chair, she reached into the box and lifted out the smallest kitten, a gray ball of fluff with oversized ears.
"This one's the runt," she said, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. She crossed to me and held out the kitten. "Thought you might like to hold her."
The kitten fit perfectly in my palms, a warm vibrating bundle that immediately started purring. I brought her close to my chest, feeling her tiny heart racing against my fingertips. She looked up at me with blue-gray eyes that hadn't yet decided what color they would become.
"I always wanted one," I admitted, stroking between her ears with my index finger. "Never could justify it with my schedule."
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I felt something uncomplicated. Pure joy, unmarred by fear or doubt or the weight of everything that had happened. Just me and this tiny creature, existing together in a moment of perfect contentment.
Ellie approached with her medic kit. She knelt in front of my chair, setting the black case beside her. Her movements were economical, nothing wasted.
"Let me check that ankle," she said, settling cross-legged on the hardwood floor. Her dark locs swung forward as she bent her head.
I hesitated only a moment before extending my leg. Ellie took my foot in her hands, her touch clinical but gentle. The kitten on my lap stirred, then settled back into sleep.
"This might hurt a bit," she warned, rotating my ankle slightly.
I bit my lip against the sharp twinge. Ellie's fingers probed the swollen tissue with careful precision, her expression focused.
"Healing nicely," she murmured, reaching into her kit for antibiotic ointment. "Still tender, but the swelling's down. Keep your weight off it as much as possible."
Her hands were warm against my skin as she applied the ointment in small, circular motions. Professional. Methodical. But something in her touch felt almost reverent.
I tilted my head to meet Cam's steady gaze. The question had been burning inside me since the revelation, and I couldn't hold it back any longer.
"Did you know who Alex was?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. "The whole time? That she is Domenica Bellante."
Cam paused. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before she gave a single, deliberate nod.
Ellie's hands stilled on my ankle. "We all knew."
