Then I saw her. Sabine was crumpled beneath the sprawling monstera, its massive leaves creating a canopy above her. Birds-of-paradise towered nearby, their orange blooms dulled to gray in the moonlight. She looked so small there, curled into herself, shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she cried into her forearm.
My heart cracked open. We had done this to her. Our cameras had failed. Our protection had failed. Mark was dead, and now she was alone on the floor of a stranger's greenhouse, crying into her sleeve like a child.
I crossed to her, my footsteps whisper-soft on the tile. I didn't want to startle her, but I couldn't leave her alone with this grief. It felt wrong, obscene almost, to let her suffer without offering comfort.
I crouched beside her, my knees protesting against the hard tile. Her hair had fallen across her face, damp with sweat and tears. I reached out, brushing it back from her forehead with gentle fingers.
The reaction was immediate. Sabine jerked away from my touch as if burned, her eyes flying open. Tears streamed down her face, catching the moonlight like silver trails. She shook her head once, twice. No. The rejection was unmistakable.
She didn't want me here. Didn't want comfort. Not from me. Not from any of us.
I stood up slowly, my legs stiff, and backed away a few steps. Sabine buried her face in her hands, her sobs growing louder now that she knew she wasn't alone. The sound tore through me, raw and primal.
I couldn't force comfort she didn't want, but I couldn't leave her alone either. Not when Mark's killers were still hunting. There had to be a middle ground. Some compromise between respecting her boundaries and fulfilling my duty to keep her safe.
At the door, I paused, eyes on her huddled form. I'd give her space but stay close enough to hear if she needed me. I positioned myself on the bench outside. Leaning against the wall, I caught every muffled sob through the door. The rules had been clear from the beginning: protect the asset, maintain professional distance. Yet here I was, compromised beyond repair.
The memory of her defensiveness about those empty shorthand notebooks she collected still made me smile, even now. Hours ago, her skin had been warm beneath my fingertips, her breath catching in my ear. Somewhere along the way, Sabine Barrett had become more than an assignment—she'd become everything.
And now, we had shattered her trust. From the living room, their voices drifted toward me. Alex still sounded certain, while Cam methodically worked through scenarios. None of it mattered if Sabine wouldn't trust us again.
Footsteps approached, and then Kara appeared in the door of the great room. She took one look at me, glanced toward the solarium, then sat beside me without a word.
I moved my left hand to touch her right, and we held hands, keeping vigil outside a door we weren't welcome to enter, ready to stay all night if necessary for someone who no longer wanted us there.
28
Sabine
I couldn't feel emotionsanymore. The cold from the solarium tile had seeped through my clothes, numbing everything. My body had reached its limit. I needed to move.
My legs screamed as I pushed myself up. My right ankle throbbed with each heartbeat, and I wondered if it would ever fully heal. I steadied myself against the wall, waiting for the room to stop tilting.
The great room spread before me, bathed in moonlight. Ellie and Kara sat on the bench outside the solarium door, their silhouettes dark against the pale walls. They'd been watching me for hours. Guarding me. Waiting.
I walked past them, eyes fixed on some invisible point ahead. Kara shifted, leaning forward. Ellie's mouth opened.
"Sabine, we should talk about—"
Their words dissolved into meaningless sound. I kept moving, one foot in front of the other. Nothing they could say mattered now. Mark was dead. I had killed him with my article.
The stairs loomed ahead. Each step was a mountain to climb. My hand gripped the banister, knuckles white. Halfway up, my vision blurred. I paused, swallowed hard. Kept going.
The hallway stretched endlessly. My bedroom door seemed miles away. When I finally reached it, my fingers fumbled with the handle.
Inside, I didn't bother with lights or change clothes. I didn't even pull back the covers. I fell onto the bed, still wearing my shoes and stained with tears and grief. My body sank into the mattress like it would never rise again.
Sleep came like a thief, stealing away consciousness before I could fight it off.
I woke to sunlight stabbing through the window. For one blessed moment, I existed in the limbo between sleep and consciousness, free from memory. Then reality crashed back. Mark was dead.
The weight of it pinned me to the mattress. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe under the crushing pressure of what I'd done. My mouth felt like sandpaper, my head throbbed, and my stomach twisted with a hunger I had no intention of satisfying.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Sabine? I brought breakfast." Ellie's voice was gentle, cautious. Like she was approaching a wounded animal. "I'm leaving it outside the door."
Her footsteps retreated down the hallway. I stared at the ceiling, counting the tiny imperfections in the paint. One crack. Two water stains. Three spidery lines where the plaster had separated slightly.
