Page 5

"Right," Morgan agreed, though she knew sleep would be elusive at best. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Cordell sitting in her living room, that snake-like smile on his face, threatening everything she loved.

She'd lie awake until dawn, planning, strategizing, searching for the one blind spot in Cordell's vision, the one move he wouldn't anticipate.

"I'll stay," Derik said, reading her thoughts. His fingers tightened around hers. "If that's okay."

The offer hung between them, layered with meanings beyond just security.

They'd been gravitating toward each other for months, the professional boundaries that had once kept them apart dissolving in the face of shared danger, shared purpose.

They'd been careful, tentative, both of them carrying too many scars to rush into anything.

But tonight, with Cordell's threat hanging over them, caution seemed pointless.

"It's okay," Morgan said finally, her voice softer than usual.

Derik nodded, understanding everything she wasn't saying. That she didn't want to be alone tonight. That she needed his presence to keep the darker thoughts at bay. That some part of her feared Cordell would return, and at least together they stood a chance.

Skunk padded over to them, sensing the shift in mood. The pitbull pressed against Morgan's leg, a solid, warm presence anchoring her to the moment.

"Come on," Derik said, still holding her hand. "Let's try to get some rest."

They moved through the darkened house toward her bedroom, checking locks and shadows from habit.

Morgan knew neither of them would actually sleep—they'd take turns pretending to, for the other's benefit.

It was a familiar dance by now, this shared insomnia, this hypervigilance that never quite faded.

The bedroom was sparse, functional, revealing little about its occupant.

Morgan had never been one for personal touches, even before prison.

Ten years behind bars had only reinforced her minimalist tendencies.

A bed, a dresser, a small nightstand with a lamp and a dog-eared paperback.

No photos, no mementos. Nothing that could be used against her.

Morgan set her weapon on the nightstand within easy reach, while Derik did the same on the opposite side. They moved around each other with the comfortable familiarity of people who had worked side by side for years, anticipating each other's movements, respecting each other's space.

Skunk jumped onto the foot of the bed, circling twice before settling down with a contented sigh. The pitbull's presence was comforting, a reminder that some loyalties were simple, uncomplicated by the past.

Morgan sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly uncertain. Being with Derik like this—vulnerable, unguarded—still felt new, despite the months they'd been circling each other. Prison had taught her to keep her walls up, to never show weakness. Old habits died hard.

Derik seemed to understand. He sat beside her, not touching, just present. "You don't have to pretend with me," he said quietly. "I know what Cordell being here did to you. I know what it means."

Morgan closed her eyes briefly, the weight of Cordell's ultimatum settling over her again. One week. Seven days to find a way to outmaneuver a man who'd spent decades weaving a web of power and influence, a man whose reach extended into the highest levels of the institutions she'd once believed in.

Seven days to protect her father, Derik, herself.

Seven days until Cordell made good on his promise to destroy what little remained of her world.

"We'll figure something out," she said, as much to herself as to Derik. "We have to."

Derik's hand found hers again, his fingers intertwining with hers. "We will," he promised. "Together."

The simple word—together—eased something tight in Morgan's chest. After years of fighting alone, of trusting no one, of carrying the weight of injustice and betrayal by herself, she wasn't alone anymore. Whatever came next, whatever Cordell had planned, she wouldn't face it in isolation.

They lay down without bothering to change clothes, both too wired, too alert to perform even that small ritual of normalcy.

Derik pulled her against him, her back to his chest, his arm draped protectively over her waist. Morgan could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, a counterpoint to her own racing pulse.

"Try to sleep," he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. "I've got first watch."

Morgan nodded, knowing sleep would likely elude her. But the solid warmth of Derik behind her, the weight of his arm around her, the rhythmic sound of his breathing—these things grounded her, pushed back the darker thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her.

As she lay in the darkness, Cordell's face kept appearing in her mind—that cold, calculating gaze, those pale blue eyes that revealed nothing, the cruel set of his mouth as he delivered his ultimatum.

She could still smell his expensive cologne lingering in her living room, still see the red dot dancing across Derik's back in the video feed.

But as the minutes stretched into hours, Morgan found her eyelids growing heavy despite her determination to stay alert.

Derik's steady presence behind her, the warmth of Skunk at her feet, the familiar confines of her own bedroom—these small comforts slowly worked to overcome the adrenaline still coursing through her system.

Just before dawn, exhaustion finally won out. Morgan drifted into a fitful sleep, her hand still loosely gripping the edge of her weapon on the nightstand, ready to face whatever came next. Whatever Cordell had planned, whatever moves he had yet to make, she would be ready. She had no choice.

The hunt had been coming for forty years. It had claimed her father's identity, ten years of her own life, and now threatened to take everything else. But this time, Morgan wouldn't be the hunted. This time, she would find a way to bring Cordell down, no matter the cost.

With that final thought, darkness claimed her, offering a few precious hours of respite before the next battle began.