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And all through it, her senses stayed on edge.

Not the kind the disquiet the Marine stirred in her.

Something colder. She was beginning to think the stranger wasn’t an undercover agent after all. Which meant he was something else.

And he was in her town.

Climbing beneath the sheets, too wired to sleep but utterly exhausted, she reached for her cellphone. Lately, she’d fallen down a rabbit hole of dog videos. Pugs, mostly.

All in the name of research, of course.

Her thumb hovered over the app—

A notification caught her eye.

Marine: Sweet dreams.

Her chest tightened.

She’d ignored his texts all day. A whole string of them.

For a moment, she just stared at the screen.

Fuck.

With a quiet exhale, she tapped the notification and scrolled up to the first message of the day.

Marine: I owe you an apology.

Marine: For last night. Getting into that mess. Dragging you into it.

Marine: Also … thanks. For not leaving me there. And for letting me crash at your place.

Marine: And the breakfast. Even if it came with threats.

Marine: I don’t take it for granted. You showing up. Having my back.

Marine: You’re a good friend, L— Oops. Felicity.

Marine: Anyway. I’m good. Back at work. No sharp tools yet.

And the latest, sent — she glanced at the clock — almost four hours ago.

Marine: Guess you’ve been busy. Good night

Marine: Sweet dreams.

It wasn’t hard to hear the disappointment in his text. Guilted, she typed: Told you I was a shitty friend.

*

There was nothing sweet about her dreams.

Inessa’s voice broke as she stood in the road, crying. “Don’t leave me.”

“I can’t stay,” she said, climbing into the waiting vehicle, her new identification clutched tight in her hand.

Felicity Graham.