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"My responsibility is to keep you alive until you testify. Emotional entanglement compromises that mission. You know this."

Ivy set her untouched coffee down. "You weren't worried about emotional entanglement when you had your mouth between my?—"

"Stop." Julia's voice carried the steel edge of command. "This isn't productive."

"No, what isn't productive is pretending last night didn't matter." Ivy crossed her arms. "What isn't productive is acting like you can simply file it away in whatever mental compartment you've designated for mistakes."

The accusation found the vulnerable spaces beneath Julia's armor. She had indeed been mentally filing the encounter away—not because it hadn't mattered, but because it had mattered too much.

"I'm not saying it didn't matter," Julia said, her voice wavering slightly. "I'm saying it can't happen again."

"Because protecting me requires emotional distance? Or because you're terrified of feeling something you can't control?"

"What scares me is the thought of failing to protect you because I'm focused on how you make me feel instead of where the next threat is coming from."

Something in Ivy's expression shifted. "I get it. You think emotions compromise judgment. But Julia, we've already crossed that line. Pretending we can uncross it doesn't make us safer; it just creates a different kind of distraction."

The logic was sound. Julia remained silent, trapped between professional duty and emotional reality.

"Fine. We'll do this your way for now." Ivy stepped back. "Detective Scott it is. But don't think this conversation is over."

"We have more immediate concerns," Julia said, grateful for the shift. "Morgan's reporting that Chief Marten wants updates by noon."

"What do we tell her?"

"Nothing about last night," Julia replied automatically.

A bitter smile curved Ivy's mouth. "Obviously. Heaven forbid anyone knows Detective Perfect crossed a line."

The barb stung because it contained truth. Julia had built her career on adherence to protocol, carrying the Scott family legacy like a weight across her shoulders.

"We tell her we're secure and continuing to prepare for the grand jury," Julia said. "Morgan's arranging a secure meeting at Lavender's Café later today."

"Lavender? The one who owns the lesbian café in the Heights?" Ivy's eyebrows rose in recognition.

Julia nodded. "She's a community resource. Her café has a secure back room. I need to meet with Morgan there while you remain secure here."

"Absolutely not." Ivy's eyes flashed. "I'm not being sidelined. This is my testimony, my life at stake. This apartment was secure enough for both of us last night," Ivy countered when Julia objected. "Why is it suddenly insufficient today?"

The implied accusation was that Julia's change in parameters was emotional rather than tactical. She was right.

"And if I refuse to stay behind?" Ivychallenged, chin lifting in the stubborn gesture Julia had come to recognize. "Will you handcuff me to the bed? That would be ironic, considering."

The morning light caught in Ivy's hair, illuminating her determined expression. In that moment, she wasn't just a witness to be protected, but a force of nature—brilliant, stubborn, refusing to be diminished.

Something shifted in Julia's calculation. Perhaps this witness wasn't a vulnerability, but an asset.

"Fine," she conceded. "You can come. But you follow my security protocols exactly. No deviation, no questions, no improvisation."

"Understood. Your operation, your lead."

"And Ivy?—"

"I know," Ivy cut her off. "Professional distance. Nothing happened. We're just a detective and her witness."

"We leave in an hour." Julia retreated. "Dress inconspicuously."

At the bathroom doorway, Ivy paused. "You know what the irony is? Last night was the first time since this started that I didn't feel afraid."