Kara responded immediately. "Tough shit. Sabine is our responsibility."
"Right," Ellie agreed. "The job comes first."
The job. The fucking job.
My stomach clenched so hard I nearly doubled over. I pressed my palm against the wall to steady myself, feeling the cool plaster against my skin.
The job comes first.
I thought about Kara's hands on my thighs the other day. Ellie whispering in my ear as I came. Cam watching me with those dark, knowing eyes. The tangle of limbs and sheets. The way they made me feel safe for the first time in months.
All of it was just work to them. A professional courtesy. Keep the witness happy so she cooperates.
Was any of it real? Or had they sat around and strategized the best way to handle me? Maybe they'd drawn straws to see who had to fuck the traumatizedjournalist first. Ellie, with her gentle hands and worshipful energy—was that just her assigned role? And Kara, the way she'd held me in the shower like I was something precious. Had she practiced that move in the mirror?
Even the small things. The French toast made from Ellie's grandmother's recipe. My favorite beer already stocked in the fridge. The way Cam had known exactly how much pressure to use, how much I could take. All of it could have been reconnaissance. Data points in a file.Subject responds well to praise. Subject prefers IPA over lager.
I was such a fool.
I stepped into the doorway without planning to. "Is that all I am to you? A job?"
My voice shook. I hated that it shook.
They spun around like they'd been caught stealing. Three faces I had thought I knew turned toward me with expressions I'd never seen before, not even when I confronted them about the cameras.
Horror bloomed across Ellie's features, her mouth forming a perfect O. She reached toward me, fingers trembling, then let her hand drop like she'd touched something hot.
Kara's professional mask cracked right down the middle. For once, she looked completely lost for words, her clipboard hanging forgotten at her side. I could see papers spread across the desk behind her—maps, maybe? Exit routes? Had I interrupted them planning our escape while discussing how I was just another assignment?
And Cam? She went completely still. Not frozen, not startled. Still like a predator deciding whether to pounce or retreat. Her eyes never left mine, dark and unreadable. I searched them for something—pity, guilt, remorse. Found nothing I could name.
The command room stretched between us. Monitors glowed with camera feeds. Notes were scattered across every surface. And there, in the corner, the bank box of Bellante evidence Alex had given me months ago. The thing that started all of this. Physical proof that I'd been stupid enough to trust the wrong person.
The silence stretched between us like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap back and leave a welt.
"The job comes first?" My voice cracked as the words spilled out. "After everything we've done together..." The rest of the sentence died in my throat, a knot of anger and humiliation choking me. I swallowed hard, tasting bile. "God, you really were just using me, weren't you?"
Ellie shot to her feet, her face pale. "No! Sabine, that's not what—"
"Sabine, that's not what I meant—" Kara started, her clipboard forgotten at her side.
I turned away, unable to bear their explanations. Just words. It was always just words with them. Promises and reassurances that meant nothing when it came down to it.
I walked back to the kitchen, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. The marble counter was cold under my palms as I leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing. Something metallic caught my eye. The van keys. Someone had gotten sloppy. I hadn't been downstairs in days, and they'd left them out like they didn't expect me to notice.
My fingers closed around them before my brain could catch up. The metal bit into my palm, solid and real. I just needed out. Away from their lies, away from the suffocating safety of these walls, away from the memory of their hands on my body.
I moved without thinking, past the command room entrance toward the side door. The main exit to the outside world. The handle was cool under my touch, and for a second I hesitated. Bellante's people were still out there. Still hunting me.
I turned the handle anyway.
The door swung open, and I stepped onto the porch.
The cold hit me first—sharp and immediate after two weeks of central heating. I wasn't wearing a coat. Wasn't even wearing shoes, just the socks I'd put on two days ago. The bricks were frigid beneath my feet, but I didn't care.
Fresh air rushed into my lungs, so different from the recycled warmth I'd been breathing. It tasted clean, alive, like a reminder that the world was bigger than four walls and locked doors.
Above me, the evening sky stretched endlessly, streaked with orange and purple as the sun sank toward the horizon. Two weeks of looking at ceilings, and I'd forgotten how vast the sky could be. Wind moved through the trees at the property's edge, their branches swaying and creaking. Somewhere, a bird called out. Real sounds. Unfiltered by glass and walls.
