AGAPE

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

Hope didn't sleep that night.

She lay on the worn couch, phone face-up on her chest, screen glowing every few minutes with notifications she didn't have the energy to check. Victory's late-night texts. Leah's worried messages. A reminder about an assignment due next week.

Nothing from David.

She'd sent the message hours ago. Is this David? Short. Casual. The kind of message that could mean anything.

But it didn't mean anything. Not yet.

At 2am, she got up and walked to the kitchen. The faucet dripped—a slow, steady rhythm her mother used to fix with a twist of her wrist and a muttered curse. Hope turned the handle the same way now. The drip slowed but didn't stop.

She leaned against the counter and opened her phone again.

The message was still there. Blue bubble. Delivered. Unanswered.

She stared at it until her vision blurred.

Is this David?

She'd typed it three different times before sending. Each version sounded wrong. Too desperate. Too casual. Too much like someone who'd been watching him for eight months.

The final version was the shortest. The least revealing. The one that could mean anything.

And now she was paying for it.

At 4am, she checked again.

At 5am, she gave up and made coffee. One cup, black, too strong. Her mother used to say Hope had no patience for anything soft.

She sat at the kitchen table, staring at the dark liquid, trying to remember the exact shade of David's eyes. Brown? Hazel? Something in between? She'd been too close. Too breathless. She couldn't remember anything except the way he'd tilted his head when he saw her.

Like she was a song he was trying to remember.

Her phone buzzed.

She grabbed it so fast she nearly knocked over the coffee.

Unknown Number: Who is this?

Hope's heart stopped. Then started again, twice as fast.

She stared at the screen. Three words. No punctuation. No warmth. Just a question.

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Hope.

That was honest. That was her.

But if she said her name, he'd remember. He'd know she was the girl from the coffee shop. The one in the back of his videos. The one who'd watched him and said nothing.

She typed:

A fan.

Then deleted it.

Someone who saw you at The Lantern.

Too formal.

The girl with the orange juice.

Too familiar.

She closed the app and set the phone face-down on the table.

Then she picked it up again.

Hope.

She pressed send before she could stop herself.

The reply came faster than she expected.

Hope. You were at the coffee shop.

She read it three times. Her name. He remembered her name. He remembered she was at the coffee shop.

Yes. You held the door for me.

I remember.

Hope's chest tightened. He remembered. He remembered holding the door for her like it was nothing—but clearly, it wasn't nothing to him.

She wanted to ask him about the photos. She wanted to ask him about the storage unit, the men, the packages. She wanted to say, "I know what you're doing."

But she didn't.

Instead, she typed:

You said I was always watching you.

A long pause. Hope stared at the screen, her hands trembling. She'd said too much. She'd ruined everything.

Then the bubble appeared. Typing.

You were. I looked for you at the shows. You disappeared for a while. I wondered if you moved.

Hope set the phone down, took a breath, and read it again.

He looked for her.

He noticed she was gone.

He wondered if she moved.

I didn't move. I couldn't afford the shows.

Why not?

The question was simple. Direct. Like he actually wanted to know.

School. Siblings. Life.

The usual.

The usual. I understand.

Hope waited. The bubble appeared again. Then disappeared. Then appeared.

Are you coming to the show this Friday?

Her breath caught.

I don't know yet.

You should. I'll play something you like.

How do you know what I like?

I watched you, too.

He watched her, too.

Hope closed her eyes. The words echoed in her chest.

When she opened them, the screen was still there. David's message. His confession.

I watched you, too.

She thought about the photos. The storage unit. The men with hard faces and expensive watches.

She thought about the way he'd looked at her.

She thought about the way he'd said, "You're always in the back. Watching."

He was watching her, too.

The same way she was watching him.

She typed:

I'll be there.

Good. I'll look for you.

Then the bubble disappeared. The conversation was over.

Hope set down the phone. Her heart was pounding so loud she almost didn't hear the sound of the front door clicking open.

Elijah walked in, still wearing his uniform from the inn. His eyes were dark. Exhausted. He looked at Hope sitting at the kitchen table, at the cold coffee, at the phone glowing in front of her.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Elijah." Her voice cracked. She hadn't expected it to.

He was by her side in three steps. Pulled out a chair. Sat across from her. Didn't say anything. Just waited.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

He nodded. Quiet. Patient. That's who Elijah was. The one who didn't push.

"David Jones," she started. "He's... involved in something bad. Stolen goods. I saw photos. I didn't want to believe it, but Leah showed me. There were men. Deals. Packages."

Elijah didn't react. Didn't flinch. He just listened.

"I messaged him tonight. He replied." She pushed the phone toward him. "He knows who I am. He knew me from the coffee shop. He said he looked for me at his shows. He said he watched me too."

Elijah read the messages silently. Then he set the phone down.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Half of me wants to believe he's not the man in those photos. But half of me knows I just saw proof that he is."

Elijah leaned back in his chair. "You think he's guilty?"

"I think I don't know what to think."

"And you're going to see him on Friday."

"Yes."

"Even though you just found out he's involved in stolen goods?"

Hope stared at her brother. She could see the worry in his eyes. The same worry she'd been carrying for years.

"Elijah, what if he's not the bad guy everyone thinks he is? What if he's trapped? What if he wants out and no one has ever given him a chance?"

"Or," Elijah said quietly, "what if he's exactly what he looks like?"

She thought about the way David had looked at her. The way he'd said her name. The way he'd confessed, "I watched you, too."

"I can't explain it," she said. "I know it doesn't make sense. But when I look at him, I don't see a criminal. I see someone who's trying to be something else."

Elijah was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "You've always seen people clearly, Hope. More clearly than anyone I know. If you trust this man, I trust your judgment."

"But you don't trust him."

"I don't know him. But I trust you."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

"Promise me something," she said.

"What?"

"If I'm wrong about him. If something happens. Promise me you'll keep them safe."

Elijah's face went pale. "Hope—"

"Just promise me."

He stared at her. She could see the fear in his eyes, mixed with something else—something that looked like he'd already guessed what she wasn't saying.

"You think something's going to happen."

"I don't know. I just know I need to find out who he really is. And I need you to be ready. Just in case."

Elijah held her hand tighter.

"Promise," he said.

Hope nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away before she could think about it.

Elijah didn't say anything. He just sat there, holding her hand, the way he always had.

And for a moment, Hope believed everything might be okay.

The next morning, Hope opened her phone and looked at the photos again.

David standing in the storage unit. The men around him. The packages.

She zoomed in on his face.

He wasn't smiling like the others. He wasn't laughing.

He looked like a man who wanted to be somewhere else.

But he also looked like a man who knew exactly how to survive.

She thought about his message. "I watched you, too."

She thought about the way he'd held the door.

She thought about the way he'd said her name.

And she remembered one more thing—the way he'd sighed at his phone in the coffee shop. Like he was exhausted. Like he was choosing peace.

People who were truly evil didn't choose peace.

Did they?

She didn't have an answer. Not yet.

But she was going to find one.

On Thursday night, Hope was sitting at her laptop, trying to study, when Victory walked in.

"You're going to the show tomorrow, aren't you?"

Hope didn't look up. "Maybe."

"Leah told me everything."

Hope's head snapped up. "Leah told you what?"

"That David Jones is involved in something bad. That you saw photos. That you messaged him." Victory crossed her arms. "You're going anyway, right?"

"I don't know yet."

"You're lying."

Hope closed her laptop. "Victory, it's complicated."

"It's not complicated." Victory sat down on the couch. "You like him. He likes you. But he's bad. And you're going to go see him anyway because you can't help yourself. It's not complicated. It's just stupid."

"Victory—"

"Don't say it's not stupid. Because it is." But her voice wasn't angry. It was scared. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Hope stood up. Crossed the room. Sat down beside her sister.

"Listen to me," she said. "I'm not going to make a stupid decision. I'm going to talk to him. That's all. Just talk."

"And then what?"

"I don't know. But I promise you—I promise—I won't do anything that puts this family at risk. I've worked too hard for that."

Victory stared at her. Then she leaned into Hope's shoulder.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

That night, Hope lay awake again.

She replayed every moment with David. The way he'd held the door. The way he'd looked at her. The way he'd said her name.

She replayed every moment of the photos. The storage unit. The men. The packages.

She remembered the way David had sighed at his phone.

She remembered the way he'd told her to stay at the coffee shop.

She remembered the way he'd said, "I watched you, too."

And she realized something.

The man in the photos wasn't the man she'd met.

The man she'd met was someone trying to escape.

And she needed to know if that escape was real—or if she was just seeing what she wanted to see.

Friday morning.

Hope woke up with her heart already pounding.

Today was the day.

She was going to see him.

She was going to talk to him.

She was going to ask him the one question that terrified her the most.

Who are you really?

But as she got ready, she found herself hoping, praying that the answer was the man she'd fallen for.

And not the man in the photos.

Because she didn't think she could survive losing both.