Page 15

Arden

T he antiseptic smell hits me the moment I step through the front doors of Rosewood Pines. It’s so strong it makes my stomach turn, but I push through it, clutching the bag of lavender lotion Gran likes as I walk toward room 312.

My heels click against the linoleum floor in a steady rhythm, almost drowning out the faint sounds of laughter and old television reruns coming from the residents’ rooms. This is where my money goes every month. On extra nurses and private care Gran barely notices.

I could hear Luna’s voice now if she knew. You’re saving someone who doesn’t even know you exist.

It’s not for her. Not really. It’s for me, the girl who made a promise she didn’t understand, and the adult clinging to pieces of a family she never knew.

I knock softly before entering.

Gran sits in her usual spot by the window, her silver hair glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Her eyes are distant, fixed on something far outside my view. “Hi, Gran,” I say, my voice low.

Her head turns, and for a moment, there’s a spark of recognition in her eyes. But it’s not for me. “Annie! You’ve come.”

The familiar pang hits me, sharp as ever, but I keep my smile steady. “Of course I did,” I say, settling into the chair beside her.

Gran reaches out, her hands trembling as they wrap around mine. “You always were a good girl. It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

I swallow past the guilt and place my hand over hers. “I know, I’m sorry I’ve been busy with work.”

It’s partially the truth. The last time I visited Gran took a lot out of me. The look in her eyes when I tried to explain that I wasn’t Annie but her granddaughter still haunts my brain.

I’ve never felt so… invisible. Two people I shared blood with wanted nothing to do with me. But I know it isn’t Gran’s fault. It’s the dementia.

“It’s okay, honey, you shouldn’t keep working so hard. What does Leo have to say about this? I can’t see him approving of you working yourself like this.”

Her words knock the air out of me. My chest tightens, and I blink, trying to process the name. “Leo?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

She has never mentioned anyone named Leo at all in the past two years I’ve been coming to see her. I try to pick apart the last twenty-six years of my life, searching for the name in my memories, but have no luck. I don’t recall Mom mentioning anybody by the name of Leo.

“Yes, Leo!” Her voice softens, her lips curving into a wistful smile. “You were so in love with that boy. He’s a brave one, isn’t he? Always running off to that job of his. Dangerous work, but I can tell he adores you just the same.”

I stare at her, my heart pounding in my ears. I’ve spent my entire life wondering who my father was, asking my mom questions she never answered. Could this be him? Could Leo be the man she never wanted me to know?

“Gran,” I say carefully, leaning closer. “What do you mean about Leo’s job? What did he do?”

Gran tilts her head, confusion clouding her face. “You told me once he worked for the government. Something important. But you stopped talking about him after…” Her gaze drifts back to the window.

“After what?” I press, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible.

Gran blinks, her expression going blank. “Oh, Annie, you always were so curious. But don’t you remember? I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She pats my hand absently. “You’ll sort it out. You always do.”

My throat tightens, and I blink back the tears forming in my eyes. I force a smile as I watch her drift back into her thoughts. “Yeah, Gran,” I whisper. “I’ll sort it out.”

Then, as if on cue, she goes back to the usual conversation. She tells me about her life and tells me stories I’ve heard and clung to for years. And at the end of the visit, she asks if I’ll be back.

And like every other time, I answer yes.

The drive back to my apartment is a blur. Gran’s words echo in my mind, overlapping with the memory of every time my mother avoided my questions about my father.

Leo.

I glance at the badge on my passenger seat, its gold lettering glinting in the fading light. Special Agent Arden Williams. I fought tooth and nail for this job and clawed my way into the White House like it was the only thing keeping me afloat.

Maybe it is.

My phone buzzes on the seat. It’s a text from Luna: It’s your neglected bestie. Come eat with me before you forget how to socialize.

I huff a laugh and toss the phone aside. If she knew what was swirling in my head right now, she’d pull me into one of her armchair therapy sessions and demand answers I don’t have.

Instead, I park in my reserved spot in my building’s parking garage and lean back in the seat, staring at the skyline. Gran’s words feel too big to ignore.

If Leo was my father, if he was connected to the government, could he have walked the same halls I do now?

Could the answers be closer than I think?

***

I walk into the debriefing room, my stomach twisting with nerves I can’t name. Grant is already there, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. He glances up as I enter, his expression unreadable, his gaze sharp as it cuts across the room.

“Williams,” he says, his voice low but clear.

“Grant,” I respond, trying to keep my tone neutral.

He doesn’t speak immediately. He just watches me like he’s waiting for something, maybe for me to break, to show him some sign that I’m not as composed as I want to appear.

“You’re late,” he says after a beat, his words deliberately cutting.

I glance at the clock on the wall. “I’m not late. It’s thirty seconds past the minute. You need to relax.”

Grant raises an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving mine. “Thirty seconds could cost someone their life in the field, Williams.”

I ignore him and the tune of his broken record. Not trusting myself not to get written up. Harris’s voice drones out as I try to focus on listening to the president’s schedule for today, but I can’t concentrate.

My brain keeps going back to what Gran said. Back to whoever this Leo person is. He has to be my dad.

“What’s with you today?”

I bristle at his accusatory tone. “Nothing, I’m fine.” The words come out more defensive than I intend.

Grant steps closer, the tension between us crackling like static in the air. “If you’re fine,” he says, his voice colder now, “why is it so hard for you to focus?”

I feel the sting of his words, like he has a direct line into my scattered thoughts and is able to confirm exactly that. “I’m focused.”

Grant isn’t convinced, his eyes narrowing with scrutiny. “You’ve been off. A lot lately. You’re distracted.”

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him he doesn’t know what’s going on inside my head, but I bite my tongue. Instead, I meet his eyes, refusing to back down.

“I said that I’m fine. I never took you for the micromanaging type, Agent Grant,” I snap, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

He doesn’t flinch or even blink. He just steps in closer, the intensity of his stare making my heart race. “You better watch that tone, Rookie. I just hope you can put your money where that smart-ass mouth is.”

The words land between us, heavier than anything I’ve said before. I realize at that moment that it’s not just about proving I can do this job. It’s about proving that I’m more than just talk.

But I’m not sure where to start.

As I walk away, I can feel Grant’s eyes on me, but I don’t look back. The tension is suffocating, and I can’t shake the weight of his challenge. Because he’s right. I’m distracted, but I don’t know how to pull myself out of it.

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. I have no answers. No direction. Just the same uncertainty I’ve been carrying for years.

Where do I even start looking for the truth about Leo?

I don’t know. And that, more than anything, leaves me unsettled.

***

The training room smells faintly of cleaning solution and sweat, an oddly comforting combination.

I savor it while adjusting the strap on my vest. Agent Hard-ass is already here, of course, leaning against the wall with his usual air of cold detachment.

His sharp eyes snap to me the second I enter, assessing.

“Williams,” he says, his voice steady but biting, like it’s a nuisance just to say my name.

One day, I’m going to break that cold exterior. Maybe even pull a smile out of the Grinch who terrorizes the White House.

“Grant,” I reply, my tone deliberately even as I meet his gaze head-on.

“Focused enough not to waste my time?” The question is wrapped tightly into an intricate warning. But his voice is quieter now, like he’s worried?

Nope, I’m definitely imagining it.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Like the brute he is, he answers with a grunt, so I take that as clearance to start. I choose a simpler simulation, one I’ve cleared many times before and should have no issues with.

It’s going well until Grant’s hand shoots out, stopping me mid-step. His touch isn’t rough, but I can’t think past the heat that radiates from the spot. I freeze, glancing at him.

“Look again,” he says, his tone low and controlled.

My eyes dart around the room. It’s clear. Or so I thought until I notice the faint line of wire stretching across the doorway. My stomach twists. How did I miss that? I’ve run this simulation more times than I’d like to admit.

I should’ve seen it.

For once, it’s not his words or brooding presence throwing me off. It’s the name Gran mentioned yesterday. Leo. The word lingers like a splinter under my skin, festering with unspoken questions.

Could he really be my father? And if he is, could Agent Grant possibly know who he is?

“Williams, move.”

Grant’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts. I blink and realize I’ve hesitated in the doorway, the faint tension of a tripwire catching my eye a second too late.

“You keep missing this,” he says, his tone clipped. He steps forward, his hand brushing mine as he points out the wire.

Once again, the contact is brief, but it sends a jolt through me this time. This time, it goes down to my core. My chest tightens as I force myself to nod. “Got it.”

“No,” he counters, stepping back as if he could read my thoughts. His piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, colder than ice. “If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Understood, sir,” I grit out, the heat rising in my chest.

I don’t get it.

One minute, he’s pushing me so hard I can barely breathe. The next, he’s… watching me. Like he cares.

But that’s not possible.

Grant doesn’t care . Not about me.

Not about anything.

So why does it feel like I’m missing something?

He gestures toward the starting point. “Run it again.”

The words feel sharper this time as if he’s daring me to fail.

I reset the simulation. My movements are mechanical, but my mind isn’t on the task at hand. Instead, it circles back to Leo. To the government job Gran mentioned. To the way Grant’s presence gnaws at me, like he knows something I don’t.

When I step into the mock hallway, I know I need to say something. I need answers, even if they’re just breadcrumbs to lead me in the right direction.

I glance at him over my shoulder. “Agent Grant.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly annoyed. “What?”

I hesitate, my heart pounding in my ears. “Do you know someone named Leo?”

For a moment, the room feels too still. His expression doesn’t shift, but there’s a flicker—barely perceptible, but there. His grip tightens on the edge of the table, and he takes a second too long to answer. “Leo who?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit, my voice quieter now. Vulnerability isn’t something I like showing, especially not with my boss, but the question demands it. “I think he might’ve worked here a while ago.”

Grant’s jaw tightens, and for the first time, his mask slips. Just slightly. “I don’t know anyone by that name,” he says, but the words are too measured, too precise to be entirely true.

The disappointment hits harder than I expect, but I cover it with a shrug. “Forget I asked. It’s silly.”

“Rookie,” he says, but I shake my head.

“Seriously. It doesn’t matter.” My voice softens as I return to the simulation, though I can feel his eyes on me, heavy and unrelenting.

The rest of the session passes in a blur of movements and commands. I complete every task with precision, but my mind is elsewhere.

When it’s over, I unclip my vest and catch his gaze from across the room. There’s a guarded expression on his face. It's more unreadable than usual. But before I can figure out what it is, he turns away.

Leo. The name hangs between us like smoke, filling the space with questions neither of us seems willing to ask.