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“I am. At the end of the month.”

Cleo lets out a long breath. “And you’re putting me up for the job?”

“If you want it. I won’t give you any bullshit about leading this organization or pretend it’s not a damned nightmare at times, but nor will I deny that you have the chance to do real good in the role, if you want to take it.”

Cleo frowns. “Then why step down?”

Why, indeed.

I consider the question for a few moments before answering.

Kenna is part of the answer, certainly. Me not being in the position I am here at the Bureau takes away a massive hurdle to our relationship. But if I’m being honest with myself, it goes a hell of a lot deeper than that.

“I’ve been doing this work for over thirty years,” I say. “And I’m not sure I have the same energy for it I did back then. Perhaps it’s time someone else got the chance to lead.”

She shakes her head slowly. “I’ve never met anyone more dedicated to this cause.”

“Even so, I don’t know if the Bureau is the right place for that dedication anymore.”

I think about Ari and the work she’s doing with the Paranormal Advancement Society, of the dozen or more organizations that have sprung up around the country doing the same sort of work. I think about the paranormal beings running for office or lobbying for change, starting from grassroots and building community in our country and beyond.

The Bureau will always have a place in that landscape of change, but my own place within it is a lot less certain.

And maybe Cleo can see some of that written on my face, because she lets out a long breath and slumps back in her chair.

“Fuck,” she breathes, shaking her head. “You really think I’m up for it?”

“Take the time you need,” I tell her. “And talk to Stephanie. Decide if it’s best for the two of you. But yes, Cleo. I absolutely think you’re up for the job.”

Scrubbing her hand down the side of her face, her eyes snap back to mine and narrow. “Does this have anything to do with the redhead down in Communications?”

Just the mention of Kenna sends a pang of longing through my chest. “Perhaps.”

One of Cleo’s brows quirks up, and her mouth sets into a smirk. “I thought you said it was handled.”

“It is handled,” I tell her, with a bit of bite in my tone for old time’s sake, and she laughs.

“Good,” she says. “Glad to hear it. So what are you going to do now?”

The corners of my lips turn up in a wry smile. “Well, for starters, I need to fix the godsdamned mess I’ve made of my life.”

“And then?”

“And then…”

Gods, I really don’t know. But for the first time in a very, very long time, that uncertainty doesn’t scare me. Nothing scares me except the thought that I’ve damaged things with my mate beyond repair.

“And then I suppose I’ll enjoy a little bit of peace.”

39

Blair

My last day at the Bureau comes a week and a half later. As I pack up the last of my things from the Director’s office and arrange for them to be dropped off at my home, it’s with a strange absence of grief over closing this chapter of my life.

Perhaps it will hit me later, but shutting the lid on the last box and taking a good, long look around the room, all I feel is certainty.

Cleo is going to make an excellent Director. She has the energy for it, and none of the same baggage I brought with me to the position. I have no doubts she’ll be confirmed, if my conversation with Secretary Thompson earlier this week was any indication.