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“You’ve covered our tracks. We’re secure.”

“For now,” I admit, scanning the alerts with growing unease. “But if The Collector decides to investigate personally...”

The thought lingers, heavy with consequences. If The Collector uncovers the truth behind Charles Blackwood, Vesper becomes a target again. Worse, they could move Luca before we have a chance to find him. Sixteen million dollars lost—and the one person we’re desperate to save slipping through our fingers.

“I need to monitor this.”

“You need to sleep,” Talon counters. “Even for a few hours.”

“Not happening.”

“Alex—”

"I said no." My voice is flat, final.

“Two hours. Then I’m taking over.”

"Always the mother hen," I mutter. “Does it get exhausting being the good guy all the time?”

“No,” he admits. “Maybe you should try it sometime. You might actually allow yourself to be happy.”

“Fuck off,” I growl. Talon just quirks his lips, immune to my prickly bullshit after all these years.

“Two hours,” he repeats, rising from the chair. “Then I'm back, whether you like it or not.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and I'm alone again. I dive back into the code, setting up more sophisticated monitoring systems, creating digital tripwires that will alert me to any unusual activity.

Time blurs as I work, the minutes bleeding into each other. My eyes burn. Sleep is a luxury I can't afford.

The soft ping of an incoming message pulls me from my coding trance. A web forum I've been monitoring—someone else asking about Charles Blackwood. I deploy another false trail, seeding information about the reclusive billionaire with exotic tastes.

My phone buzzes with a timer alert. Talon's two hours are up. I ignore it, continuing to fortify our digital defenses. Let him come and try to drag me away from this desk. I'll chain myself to it if I have to.

Minutes tick by, but Talon doesn't return. Maybe he's finally learned to take a hint.

There's a soft rap at my door. I grunt, pushing back from my desk with a wince. My muscles scream in protest as I stand, stiff from hours hunched over my keyboard. Every joint pops as I stretch, the physical reminder of how long I've been sitting in the same position.

“Coming,” I mutter, assuming it's Talon back to nag me about sleep. He's nothing if not persistent.

I drag myself to the door, already preparing my ’fuck off, I'm working’ speech. But when I swing it open, the words die in my throat.

Vesper stands in the hallway, her blonde hair catching the first rays of sunlight streaming through the apartment windows. She's wearing a loose tank top and yoga pants, like she's just come from a workout. Her knuckles are freshly bandaged, white gauze stark against her skin.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “Can I come in?”

I blink stupidly, my sleep-deprived brain struggling to process her presence. Vesper. At my door. Voluntarily. After I failed to find her brother.

“Alex?” she prompts when I don't immediately respond.

“Yeah, sorry.” I step aside, suddenly self-conscious about my disheveled appearance.

“Did Talon send you?” I ask, already knowing the answer. My voice sounds rough even to my own ears.

She hesitates for just a moment before nodding. “He did, but I would have come anyway. I'm worried about you, too."

Of course she is. Even after I fucked everything up, she's still here, checking on me like I deserve her compassion.

"Vesper, I'm so sorry about the auction," I start, the words rushing out. "I should have anticipated their security protocols, should have had better contingencies in place. Sixteen million dollars and all we got was?—"