Page 8

Holden

I lean against the far wall, arms crossed. Harris is sorting through his notes, flipping pages with the kind of meticulousness that makes you question if the man’s ever rushed a single moment in his life.

Tate, as usual, stands near the observation window, his hands in his pockets, his assessing gaze scanning the simulation floor below. He hasn’t said much since the debrief wrapped up, but I can feel his approval hanging in the air, even if he doesn’t voice it.

I focus on the file in my hand, flipping through the reports from yesterday’s simulation. It’s all there in black and white: objectives met, targets neutralized, asset secured. On paper, it’s a success. But success, I’ve learned, is a fragile thing. Easily shattered by hesitation, miscalculation, or worse, arrogance.

And Arden Williams...

I stop at her name on the roster, the letters as sharp as the image of her hesitation in my mind.

I saw it. Felt it. That brief pause before she moved into the final room, her weight shifting as if the burden of the entire exercise was crushing her at that moment.

“She’s green,” Tate says, his voice breaking into my thoughts.

I glance up. He’s still watching the floor, but his words are directed at me.

“They’re all green,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral.

“She’s better than most,” Tate counters, his head tilting slightly. “A little rough around the edges, sure, but she’s got potential.”

Potential. The word grates, not because it’s untrue, but because it feels like an excuse.

She’s reckless. She’s a pain in my ass.

“She hesitates,” I say, closing the file with a sharp snap. “Potential doesn’t mean anything if she can’t make decisions under pressure.”

“And that’s why she’s here,” Tate says simply, finally turning to face me. “We don’t get to shape finished products, Grant. That’s not our job. We’re supposed to guide them.”

I resist the urge to say that this isn’t my job either. My debt to Harris, to Leo, appears to be way more complicated than I imagined.

I exhale through my nose, refusing to confirm or deny anything. He knows exactly how to get a reaction out of me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I push off the wall, straightening. “Harris wants them ready for the field. Hesitation in the field gets people killed.”

Tate smirks. “And you’re just the man to make sure they don’t hesitate, right?”

I don’t answer. It’s not a question that needs a response.

I find myself in the training facility an hour later, watching from the observation deck as the rookies spar with one another. Williams moves with precision, her form solid.

On the surface, she’s everything Harris expects from someone on this team.

But I can still see those cracks. The brief pauses in her steps, the flickers of doubt she tries to mask with bravado. She’s good, better than most, I’ll give her that. But she’s not unshakable.

And unshakable is what’s needed.

I lean against the railing, my eyes narrowing as she counters Park’s attack with a clean block and a swift jab to his ribs. He staggers back, laughing despite the hit, his words lost to the soundproof glass.

There’s an ease to her interactions with him, a camaraderie that reminds me of a time before all of this, before the weight of responsibility turned every connection into a liability.

She’s young, determined, and smart enough to make me question why her hesitation bothers me so much.

I can’t help watching her. The way she paces, the slight twitch in her fingers when she thinks no one’s looking. It’s not nerves. It’s something deeper. I’ve seen countless agents crack under the pressure of these drills before, but this is different.

It’s the same look I saw on Leo’s face years ago, just before he defied protocol and ran headfirst into the fire. Back then, I didn’t understand how someone could carry that much and still move forward. Now, I wonder if Arden even knows she’s carrying it.

I’ve spent years trying to outrun ghosts like hers. Seeing her now feels like I’m getting closer and closer to looking into that mirror I’ve worked hard to avoid.

“Grant.” Harris’s voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back.

I straighten, turning to face him.

“They’re making progress,” he says, nodding toward the floor below. “Williams is holding her own.”

“Progress isn’t enough,” I reply.

Harris raises an eyebrow. “You sound like you’ve already written her off.”

I don’t respond immediately, my gaze shifting back to the floor. Williams lands another hit on Park, her focus unwavering.

“She’s good,” I admit finally. “But good isn’t enough. Not for what you say you’re building here.”

Harris chuckles softly. “You’ve got a funny way of showing your encouragement.”

“Encouragement doesn’t keep people alive,” I counter firmly. “Preparation does.”

He nods, his expression unreadable. “Just don’t break her before she gets a chance to prove you wrong.”

Later, as I’m leaving the facility, I cross paths with Williams in the hallway. She’s heading toward the locker room, her hair damp from sweat, her jaw set in that stubborn way that’s quickly becoming familiar.

“Williams,” I say, stopping in my tracks.

She glances up, her expression guarded. “Agent Grant.”

I study her for a moment, the sweat coating her forehead. The way her chest rises up and down. “Do better tomorrow.”

Her eyes widen slightly, the faintest flicker of indignation breaking through her cool exterior.

“Understood, sir,” she says through gritted teeth, like words that tasted like charcoal.

I nod once, turning to leave before she can say anything else.

As I walk away, her tone lingers in my mind. It wasn’t resignation, no. It sounded like a challenge.

***

The sting in my knuckles hasn’t faded by the time I’m showered and dressed. The ache lingers, a reminder of the frustration I can't shake.

I tell myself it’s just the workout, the fallout from pushing too hard, but I know better.

I drive aimlessly, the city lights flashing past. My mind drifts, but it always returns to her. Williams. She’s stubborn and is already proven to be a pain in my ass. But there’s something else, something I can't put my finger on.

It’s like she’s constantly in my orbit, tugging at me whether I want her to or not.

Most seasoned agents would cower in fear after a critique like that, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she doubled down, her chin lifting as if daring me to find another flaw.

It’s not arrogance. It’s a true hunger to prove she is where she’s meant to be. It reminds me of the first time I stood in my father’s office, his medals gleaming on the walls behind him.

He didn’t smile, and he didn’t congratulate me for graduating at the top of my class. He just handed me my assignment and said, “Don’t embarrass me.”

Part of my brain wonders if she’s carrying her own ghosts. If she’s trying to outrun someone.

While the other part is desperately trying to shake it off. Trying to ignore whatever it is pulling me closer to this woman.

When I pull up to my mom’s house, the warm glow of the setting sun eases some of the tension in my chest. It’s not Sunday, our usual night, but tonight, I need a change. I need something familiar.

She answers the door before I even knock, her smile soft and welcoming. “Holden, what a surprise.”

“Hey, Ma.” I press a kiss to her temple before stepping inside, the scent of home-cooked food immediately hitting me.

“Something smells good,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“Just you tonight,” she says with a knowing smile.

“Had a feeling, huh?” I ask as I shrug off my jacket.

She nods like it’s no big deal. “You could say that.”

I settle into the familiar routine, sitting at the table as she sets a plate in front of me. I dig into the food, the quiet rhythm of her movements calming something inside me.

It’s different here, different from the cold, empty apartment I’ve been spending too much time in lately.

“So what’s going on with you?” she asks casually, though I can hear the concern in her voice.

I try to keep it light, stabbing a piece of chicken with my fork. “Work stuff.”

Her gaze sharpens. “You’ve always been a man of few words, Holden, but something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

I shift in my seat. She’s not wrong. There’s a lot on my mind, but it’s easier to keep it buried. Pretty sure I’d make a therapist question their degree.

“I’m fine, Ma.” I try to brush it off, but she’s still looking at me like she can see right through the walls I’ve built up.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone, you know,” she says quietly, almost like a warning. “I’m here. I always will be.”

I swallow, and the knot in my throat tightens. I can’t deal with this. Not now. Not when there’s so much I still haven’t figured out.

“Work’s been busy. That’s all,” I say. I don’t want to dive deeper into this. Into anything that feels too much.

She sighs, but it’s not out of frustration. It’s that tired, knowing sigh she’s always had, the one that lets me know my bullshit does not fool her. “I just don’t want you to get so lost in it all, Holden. Don’t forget to take a break.”

I don’t respond at first because I don’t know how to explain that everything’s harder than it looks. That no matter how many breaks I take, the tension won’t go away. Not when it’s always there, always just under the surface.

“You’re allowed to be more than what you do,” she adds softly. “You’re like your father, married to your work just like him. I don’t want that for you, Holden. I really don’t. I want you to be able to settle down and start a family.”

I lean back in my chair, my jaw tight, as I look down at my plate. The familiar ache in my chest is still there, but now it’s mixed with something else: guilt.

I should be the one looking out for her. But it’s hard when I can’t even take care of myself.

“I know,” I say quietly. “I hear you, Ma.”

We eat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

Before I leave, she stops me at the door, pulling me into a tight hug. “I love you, Holden. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, hugging her back. “I love you too. I’ll see you Sunday.”

I step out into the cool night, my mind already racing again. I can’t shake the thoughts of her. No matter how hard I try to shut it out, she keeps finding a way in.

But I can’t think about that now. I need to focus.

On the job.

On figuring out what happened to her father.

On what’s ahead.

And as I get in the car and drive away, I don’t look back.