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Holden

T HE SURVEILLANCE FEED crackles to life on the monitor in front of me, shadows and static swallowing most of the detail. The room is dim, illuminated only by the cold glow of screens lining the walls. It smells like stale coffee and burnt rubber.

It doesn’t matter. I already know what I’m looking at.

Another dead end.

I’ve watched this footage at least a hundred times, each angle promising answers but delivering nothing in a cruel loop of futility.

I sit back in the chair, the cold edge of the table pressing against my forearms, and let the silence stretch. The file in front of me, the one stamped with bold red letters reading CONFIDENTIAL , is a puzzle I should’ve pieced together by now.

Every lead turns into another layer of bullshit I still can’t prove.

This wasn’t supposed to be my night. It wasn’t supposed to be anything.

It was a whim.

One I couldn’t explain.

It’s been years since I’ve thought about that night. But something pulled me back as I placed another box back in the storage room, an invisible but insistent hand on my shoulder.

For reasons I can’t name, I pulled the file from the stack, grabbed the footage, and came here. The thought of Leo’s face had crept into my mind out of nowhere, unwanted and unshakable.

And now, here I was, watching ghosts flicker on the screen, chasing a shadow I’d vowed to let go.

I flip the folder open again, the sharp scent of ink hitting my nose as I scan the familiar pages of names, dates, and coordinates. It's the same as the last time I saw it. Still as meaningless without context. My jaw tightens as I reach the photo stapled to the top-right corner.

Leo.

His face is frozen in time, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth a reminder of who he used to be. And who I used to be before everything went to hell.

I push the folder aside and cut the footage, running a hand down my face. This isn’t getting me anywhere.

“Grant.”

The voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance up to see Harris standing in the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light of the hall.

“Sir?” I ask, my tone clipped.

He steps inside, not bothering to wait for an invitation. He drops two files onto the desk. The maroon folders mark them as rookies, fresh out of Federal Law Enforcement Training Center training, or FLETC, as most people call it.

I don’t bother waiting for the request. “Give them to someone else.”

“No,” he replies. “This isn’t a request. They’re yours. You and Tate.”

My jaw tightens. The tension between us hangs thick as I let his words settle. I can see in his expression that there’s no point in arguing. Whatever this is, it was decided long before he walked through the door.

I take my time picking up the first file and flipping it open. Arden Williams . Top marks in firearms, hand-to-hand combat, and tactical assessments. Driven. Relentless. A recruit who looks good on paper.

But her photo stops me cold.

She’s stunning in a way that makes my gut tighten, but not for the reasons you’d expect. Her beauty isn’t soft or inviting. It’s sharp enough to cut. Her dark eyes hold an edge, a familiarity that twists something inside me.

I’ve seen countless files. Nothing about this one should stand out. But it does.

Her looks don’t unnerve me. It’s who she resembles—the ghost I’ve spent years trying to forget. The very one that led me to the surveillance room.

My hand twitches, tension coiling through me like a live wire. I force it into a fist.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I deadpan.

Harris smirks, and it takes a considerable amount of effort to remember my chain of command and the oath I took. “I figured you’d catch that. Yes, she’s Leo’s daughter.”

Hearing his name spoken aloud hits harder than I expect, especially now, after hours of watching him run back into that building.

“And you want me to train her,” I say flatly.

“She’s not her father,” Harris replies, his voice low but firm, like he’s offering a solution to an argument I haven’t started yet. “But she’s got his fire. You’ll see.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

The last thing I need is a ghost of the past, especially when half this agency still whispers my name alongside Leo’s death.

Training her isn’t just a task. It’s a loaded gun pointed squarely at me.

I shut the file, but her image burns in my mind.

With reluctance, I pick up the second file. Theodore Park . His profile reads quieter but no less troublesome. Brilliant in tech and analytics, quick under pressure, but with a rap sheet of behavioral issues. Contradictions everywhere. A wild card.

“And him?” I ask, my voice edged with steel.

“Rough around the edges,” Harris admits with a shrug. “But with the right guidance, he could be exceptional. He needs structure, someone to pull the best out of him.”

I snap the file shut, my jaw tightening. “Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to take two rookies—one with a family legacy hanging over her head, the other a walking liability—and turn them into agents who won’t get themselves or the president killed.”

“That’s exactly what I’m asking,” Harris says, maddeningly calm. “It’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

He’s right, but I’ve known him long enough to know when he’s not being entirely forthcoming. I just stare at him for a long moment, searching his face. I’m not surprised when I find nothing. They don’t call this man a stone wall in a suit for nothing.

The only time you can get a read on him is if he lets you. Not a second before.

“Why these two?” I lean forward, my voice dropping to a low rumble. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The timing isn’t lost on me. Just as I’m digging up Leo’s name again, he walks in and practically drops his daughter at my feet. Coincidence? I don’t fucking think so. Especially when I don’t believe in them.

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, but it confirms my suspicion.

“Williams? Let’s just say I made her father a promise before he died. And Park...” Harris’s gaze sharpens. “His past makes him... complicated. But that’s why I need you. To keep them focused. To get them ready for a new task force I’m building.”

Leo and his damn promises. I can faintly recall the one I made to him myself.

But my mind focuses on the more important adjective. Complicated . That word alone makes me want to shove these files right back in his face. I don’t need complicated.

It doesn’t matter what I need. It never does. The call is coming from upstairs, and leadership is getting more creative with ways to fuck with my head.

I scoop the files off the desk, stacking them together as I stand. “If they screw up, this isn’t on me.”

“Yes, it will be,” Harris replies smoothly, already turning back to the paperwork in his hands. “Debrief is at 1300. Don’t be late.”

I leave the surveillance room without another word, the files tucked under my arm like dead weight.

I set them down as soon as I’m back in my office. Williams’s file ends up on top, her photo staring back at me.

Next to it, I deliberately place the CONFIDENTIAL folder I’d been working on earlier, flipping it closed before the contents spill out. Side by side, they feel like two parts of a problem I cannot afford to ignore.

I drag a hand over my jaw and lean back, staring at my past and what I hope not to be my future.

The woman… her eyes, they won’t leave me alone. Just from that picture alone, I can see her fire and determination.

Identical to the man whose file is sitting right next to hers.

That’s the thing about fire.

It can forge steel or burn it to ash. And I’ve been scorched enough to know the difference.