Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 3

The morning came heavy with overcast skies and an air of tension that never seemed to leave the halls of Langley. Quinn Reeds stepped into the CIA headquarters, his boots clicking sharply against the polished floors. A fresh suit clung to his broad frame, dark and crisp, his holstered Glock brushing softly under his jacket. The grind was familiar, almost comforting. But beneath that calm exterior, a quiet unease curled in his gut.

The conference room was already filling up with agents and analysts when Quinn arrived. The projection screen lit the room with a blue glow, displaying static snapshots from the hard drive retrieved during the smuggler’s arrest. Gary Smith was at the front, already halfway into his presentation. His appearance, as always, betrayed the seriousness of his job—rumpled button-down, a graphic tee barely visible underneath, and glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. His hair was a mess of reddish-blonde curls that looked like they hadn’t seen a comb in years.

“—and this, ladies and gentlemen,” Gary said, clicking the remote to change slides, “is the encrypted data we pulled off the drive. At first, I thought it was just stolen intelligence. But it's not that simple.”

Quinn took a seat in the back, arms folded, eyes sharp.

Gary’s voice dropped, more serious now. “It’s not just names or financial records. It’s audio logs, surveillance feeds, intercepted phone calls—compiled over the course of a decade. Whoever assembled this knew exactly where to look and who to watch.”

The room fell quiet.

Gary pressed another button, and a blurry image filled the screen. A covert photo of a government official exchanging a case with an unmarked contact in what appeared to be a war-torn country. The timestamp was from five years ago. Then another image. Then a clip of a private call. Then more.

“Some of these people are active operatives. Some are politicians. But they all have one thing in common—they were connected to covert black ops that don’t officially exist.”

Quinn leaned forward. “What’s the thread tying them together?”

Gary gave him a look. “They were all part of missions that went wrong. That got scrubbed. Some of them didn’t survive. Some got promoted. And some just… disappeared.”

Another analyst spoke up. “This is like a revenge list.”

“Or a leverage list,” someone else muttered.

Quinn stood. “We need to know who compiled this and what they’re planning to do with it. Find the origin point. Work backward. Where was the smuggler before we picked him up?”

“I’m already tracing that,” Gary said. “But it’s like they covered their digital tracks with gasoline and set it on fire. It'll take time.”

Quinn gave a nod. “Then start with the earliest file in the database. The first recording. Maybe that’s where it began.”

Later that evening, Quinn stepped into his house with the quiet shuffle of a man who had carried too much weight for one day. The scent of Alicia’s cooking—rosemary, lemon, and garlic—greeted him. He set down his briefcase and loosened his tie.

Alicia was in the kitchen, her curly black hair tied up messily, her light brown skin glowing under the warm kitchen lights. She wore soft gray lounge clothes, and there was music playing faintly from her phone. Her brown eyes flicked to him as he walked in.

“Long day?” she asked, handing him a plate.

“The longest,” he muttered, setting it down on the table. “Thanks.”

They ate in silence for a while, the kind of silence that wasn't uncomfortable, just... familiar. Until Quinn broke it.

“I was thinking again about what we talked about. Kids.”

Alicia froze slightly, her fork pausing mid-slice.

“I know adoption's an option,” he continued, “but I still want a family. I want a kid with your eyes, your laugh. Someone to share all this with.”

She set her fork down. “Quinn…”

“I know you said it might not happen naturally,” he said, voice steady, “but that doesn’t mean we just give up. There’s treatments. Surrogates. We have options.”

Her face darkened, her lips tightening. “You think this is about options?”

He frowned. “Isn’t it?”

“You don’t get it,” she said sharply. “I can’t be thinking about babies when every time you leave that door, I wonder if you’re going to come back in a body bag.”

He stared at her, wounded. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is having to lie awake every night imagining how the man I love is going to die,” she snapped, rising from the table. “You want kids? You want to bring a child into this nightmare?”

“I’m trying to give us a future,” he shot back.

“And I’m trying to keep us alive.”

The silence between them this time wasn’t familiar—it was cutting.

Alicia stormed into the bathroom, and Quinn sat in the kitchen, hands folded tightly. He wasn’t angry. He was tired. And scared. Scared that the distance between them was growing into something more than space.

Quinn stood by the window of their bedroom, staring out into the calm night sky. The faint hum of traffic and the glow of the city lights below served as the only background noise. Alicia sat at her vanity, brushing out the curls in her short black hair. There was tension in the room—a heaviness that hadn't yet lifted from earlier.

Their argument from earlier replayed in his mind.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so against the idea,” he’d said, his voice tight with restrained frustration.

Alicia had crossed her arms, standing her ground. “Because it’s not that simple, Quinn. You live a life that’s dangerous and unstable. You chase people who shoot at you, you dig into dark corners of the world, and you come home with blood on your clothes. And then you talk about raising a child in that?”

Quinn had taken a breath, his jaw clenching. “I know it’s not simple. But I’ve done everything right. I’ve given my life to this country. Doesn’t that mean I deserve a family? A shot at something normal?”

“I’m not saying you don’t deserve it,” she’d replied, more gently this time. “But it terrifies me. And I know I’ll always come second to your work. You’re married to the CIA more than you are to me.”

That stung more than he wanted to admit. Words he couldn’t unsay had flown out. Her voice had trembled, and so had his. The silence that followed was their only way to end it.

Now, the chill between them had dulled, but not disappeared.

Alicia rose and moved to the bed, pulling back the covers without a word. Quinn turned from the window and started unbuttoning his shirt. He watched her, noting the curve of her spine as she climbed in, the tension in her shoulders still visible.

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting the silence stretch before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to push. I just... want something more with you. That’s all.”

Alicia shifted, sitting up slightly, her voice softer. “I know you do. And I want to be enough for you, Quinn. But there’s so much about us that feels... uncertain. Every time you walk out that door, I’m terrified you won’t come back.”

He reached over, brushing a hand along her arm. “That’s not going to change. But neither will how much I love you.”

She leaned into his touch, exhaling deeply. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Then let’s stop,” he murmured.

He moved closer, kissing her shoulder gently. Her skin was warm beneath his lips. She turned toward him, meeting his gaze. For a moment, nothing else mattered. The pain, the secrets, the job—all of it faded as he kissed her, slow and searching.

They slid beneath the sheets, bodies finding their rhythm in the quiet darkness. Alicia wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him close as he traced kisses along her neck and collarbone. There was a hunger between them—an urgency born from unspoken fears and long days apart.

He took his time with her, memorizing every soft gasp, every arch of her body. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. She whispered his name like a confession, each syllable trembling with emotion. He moved over her with reverence, letting himself get lost in the moment.

It wasn’t just about lust—it was a reaffirmation of what still bound them together. Every breath, every touch, said what words couldn’t. That despite everything, they still belonged to each other.

Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, her head on his chest, fingers drawing absent circles across his skin.

“I’m scared too,” she whispered.

He kissed her hair. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Neither of them had all the answers. But for now, the storm had passed. And in that small, quiet space between heartbeats, they found peace.