Sheila woke up to the soft hum of her apartment, the city outside slowly stirring to life. The morning light streamed through the blinds, cutting the room into sharp lines. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling the echo of last night’s messages with Atticus settle into her chest like a stone.
She had told herself a thousand times that she didn’t need him. That he was dangerous. That she could handle this alone. And yet, here she was, heart still beating a little too fast at the memory of his words, the weight of his gaze, the subtle insistence that she wasn’t alone in what she was facing.
She got up, poured herself a cup of coffee, and tried to focus on work. Observing patterns, noting discrepancies, keeping track of training schedules she had built a world of logic
