Page 12

Arden

I didn’t expect the gallery to be so crowded.

Muted laughter, clinking glasses, and the hum of a string quartet fill the room with a sophistication I can’t seem to mimic, no matter how hard I try.

The First Lady glides effortlessly through the crowd, her smile poised and polite as she exchanges handshakes and subtle nods.

I linger a few feet away, scanning the sea of designer gowns and tailored suits. I keep my focus narrowed as I remind myself of the basics: stay alert, anticipate, and blend in.

Agent Park sidles up beside me, his posture casual, but his gaze is sharp. “Holding it together pretty well today,” he says quietly, his tone low enough to blend into the background noise.

“Trying to,” I reply, trying to mask my irritation by keeping my voice neutral. “Grant hasn’t yelled at me yet, so that’s a win.”

Park’s lips twitch, and it’s still the closest thing I’ve gotten to a real human emotion outside of his trademark smirk. “He’s always watching, but don’t take it personally. He’s like that with everyone.”

“Feels different,” I mutter, though I’m not sure why I’m admitting it to him.

His expression shifts, growing to that hard exterior as he looks at me more carefully. “He sees potential, Williams. That’s why he’s hard on you.”

Yeah, potential to burn the place down, perhaps.

Before I can respond, a figure near the far wall catches my attention. A man in a gray suit and red tie stands rigid as his gaze darts around the room like he’s cataloging exits.

My instincts stir, a familiar twist in my gut telling me something is off.

“Gray suit, red tie,” I say quietly, my eyes fixed on him.

Park follows my line of sight. “Could just be nerves. Not everyone’s used to events like this.”

“Or he’s hiding something,” I counter, already tapping my comm.

“Grant,” I murmur. “Possible suspect. Gray suit, red tie, near the back wall. Acting suspicious.”

“Hold position.” Grant’s voice comes through, sharp and unyielding. “Do not engage.”

My jaw tightens. “I think he’s concealing something.”

“Williams.” His tone drops, cold and final. “Stand down. That’s an order.”

But the feeling won’t go away. The man shifts, and I catch a glimpse of something metallic in his hand. It's small, but I could spot it from here. My logic fights with adrenaline. The feeling in my gut tells me to intervene, but logic tells me to listen to my chain of command.

Adrenaline wins out, drowning Grant’s and my logic.

God, I hope I’m not wrong.

“Park, cover me,” I say, already moving.

“Williams, don’t—” Park hisses, but it’s too late. I’m already threading my way through the crowd.

The man’s eyes lock on mine, panic flashing across his face before he bolts toward a side door.

“Suspect fleeing,” I call into my comm, picking up my pace.

“Goddammit, Williams!” Grant snaps through the earpiece, but it only fuels my determination.

The man barrels down a corridor, knocking over a tray of glasses in his escape. I leap over the mess, gaining on him as he rounds a corner. He’s fast, but I’m faster.

I lunge, grabbing the back of his jacket and dragging him to the ground.

He thrashes, his hand darting toward his pocket, but I pin him down, wrenching the object from his grip.

A detonator.

My stomach drops, the weight of what could’ve been hitting me like a freight train.

Footsteps thunder behind me, and before I can catch my breath, Grant is there, his looming presence furious.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he growls, his hand closing over my wrist as he hauls me to my feet after handcuffing the man on the ground.

His eyes blaze, cold and unrelenting as they cut back to mine.

I carefully hold up the detonator, my voice calm despite the pounding in my chest. “He had this.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at the device. His gaze stays on me, sharp and dissecting. “You disobeyed a direct order.”

“And I stopped a potential attack,” I fire back, matching his intensity.

For a moment, we stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. His firm grip on my wrist is almost bruising, but I refuse to flinch.

Finally, he releases me, the tension crackling between us like the detonator in his hand. “Get back to your position.” He taps the side of his own comms to probably signal for backup.

I wait a second, but he doesn’t glance in my direction again. I turn to return to my post, his disapproval heavy in the air. I should feel bad, but I can’t bring myself to regret what I did.

Knowing I made the call and that I’d do it again.

My pulse continues to pound in my ears, but I force myself to focus on the scene in front of me.

Park steps into view, silent as ever, his dark eyes taking in where Holden stood before flicking to where the suspect was being dragged away. He says nothing, but his presence carries a weight that forces me to acknowledge him..

“What?” I ask, still catching my breath, though my voice comes out sharper than intended.

He doesn’t answer immediately. He just shifts his gaze to me, cold and assessing. It’s like he’s peeling back layers, trying to read something I’m not ready to share. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured.

“Reckless.”

One word. That’s all. But the way he says it, like a blade slicing through the tension, makes me bristle.

“I did what needed to be done,” I snap.

Park doesn’t flinch, his expression unreadable. He steps closer, his movements calculated, like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re lucky.”

The words send a chill down my spine, but I hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “It wasn’t luck. It was training.”

His lip curls, just slightly, like he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns away, his silence heavier than any lecture.

“ He ,” he says over his shoulder, his tone sharp enough to leave a mark, “won’t see it that way.”

With that, he walks off, his figure dissolving into the shadows of the corridor.

By the time the event winds down, my muscles ache with exhaustion. The adrenaline crash leaves me hollowed out, every footstep heavier than the last as I follow the corridor leading to the debriefing room.

I barely have time to catch my breath before the door swings open, and Grant steps inside.

The room feels smaller with him in it, the air heavier. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the table, arms crossed, his piercing gaze pinning me in place.

“You ignored a direct order,” he says finally.

“And I stopped a threat,” I counter, refusing to back down.

His lips press into a thin line, but his eyes remain unyielding. “You don’t get to decide when to break protocol, Williams. This isn’t a game. Every move you make affects everyone around you.”

I step forward, the heat of frustration bubbling under my skin. “If I hadn’t acted, we’d be dealing with a hell of a lot worse right now. I made the right call.”

“The right call?” he repeats, his tone cutting. “You got lucky. And luck won’t save you or anyone else when things really go south.”

The weight of his words hits hard, but I keep my gaze steady. “I didn’t join this agency to play it safe. I’m here to make a difference.”

“No, you joined this agency to protect the fucking president. The First Family. And anyone else you’re assigned to. Not to play the martyr.” Grant straightens, his imposing frame towering over me. “There’s enough of that already in your bloodline.”

I’m momentarily thrown off by his tone and confused about what he means by that. But before I can think, he takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “What if your recklessness gets someone killed? You killed? What difference will that make?”

The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, a quiet but raging storm I can’t look away from. My chest tightens, but I force myself to hold my ground. “I won’t let that happen.”

“You better not,” he snaps, his voice like a whip. “Because next time, Williams, there won’t be a second chance. I will make it my mission to never allow you to walk through those doors again.”

His words linger as he turns and leaves the room, the door shutting behind him with a heavy finality.

I exhale shakily, the tension in my shoulders finally easing as the silence takes over. The argument plays over in my head, every word sticking like a thorn.

He doesn’t trust me. Not yet. But he will.

Because I’ll show him, everyone, that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I took an oath swearing to protect, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone stop me from doing just that.

So help me God.