Page 9

Arden

“ A gent Williams.”

Two words. That’s all it takes for the hairs to stand up on the back of my neck.

I blame that stupid voice—low and gravelly but somehow still smooth like a blade hidden in velvet.

I turn to find Grant standing just a few feet away, his hands in the pockets of his suit, his gaze locked on me with unsettling intensity.

“Sir?” I say, keeping my tone neutral, though I know it won’t matter. Neutral doesn’t work with Grant.

His eyes flick to the agents nearby, then back to me. “My office. Now.”

Whatever happened to, Hi. Hello. How are you? It’s not that I expect him to spare me any pleasantries, but all he knows how to do is bark at me like a caveman.

I pause, not because I’m afraid, but because the last time I was in his office, the air practically crackled with his very obvious disapproval. And if his tone is any indication, this won’t be any different.

He’s definitely not inviting me to a secret party in his office. That’s for sure.

“Yes, sir,” I say, matching his clipped tone as I follow him. The hallway always feels too small with him in it, and I can’t help the fleeting thought that he knows exactly how to make people feel caged.

His office is the same as the last time—bare, boring, and devoid of any personality. Just the scent of coffee and a sense of order. I doubt the man has a pen out of place.

He gestures for me to come in, then closes the door with a soft click. The sound seems louder in the quiet.

I stay near the door, keeping the desk between us like a buffer. “Is something wrong?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay even.

Grant doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps toward the desk, leaning against its edge. His arms cross over his chest, and the way his sleeves pull tight against his forearms is the kind of thing I shouldn’t notice.

“Your performance in today’s simulation,” he says, his gaze cutting through me, “was passable.”

I blink. Passable. Now that is the closest thing to a compliment I’ll ever get from him.

“But,” he continues, and there it is. That cold robolike edge that always follows. “You hesitated. Again.”

My stomach twists, but I don’t let it show. I won’t give him the satisfaction. “I thought hesitation was better than making the wrong call.”

“It’s not,” he says flatly. “You freezing up will get people killed. You don’t have the luxury of second-guessing yourself out there. Every second matters.”

His tone confirms everything I already know. He doesn’t think I’m good enough. But I try not to let the words get to me. Squaring my shoulders, I say firmly, “I made the right call.”

“Eventually,” he counters, his tone as sharp as the line of his jaw. “You need to learn to trust your instincts and act on them, Williams.”

“I do trust them,” I snap, the heat rising before I can pull it back. “But I think too. Isn’t that what makes a good agent?”

His eyes narrow, the faintest flicker of something unrecognizable passing through them before it’s gone. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches just long enough to make me regret my outburst.

“You remind me of someone,” he says finally, his voice lower but no less intense.

The admission catches me off guard but not the topic. I had a feeling it was something along those lines. I could see it in the way some people here do a double take whenever they see me. At first, I thought it was a race or even a gender thing, but it’s clearly something more. “Let me guess, someone who hesitated?” I ask, choosing my words carefully.

“No,” he says, his gaze hardening. “Someone who thought they could carry it all. Alone.”

His tone is different now, stricken with something I can’t place. And that stupid pull draws me in even though it’s the last thing I want.

“And what happened to them?” My voice comes out softer.

I watch as his eyes darken, the air between us growing thick. “They learned the hard way they couldn’t.”

The silence that follows presses against me, and for a fleeting moment, I see something in him. Something raw and human beneath the controlled exterior. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I’m not them,” I say, my voice steady, though a feeling of indignation spreads in my chest.

I don’t want to be compared to them. To anyone.

His gaze searches mine, and its intensity makes me want to look away, but I don’t. I won’t.

“Prove it,” he says, the challenge hanging in the air between us.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tired of hearing those words.

But with Grant, it always brings a different emotion in me. Paired with the normal irritation and defiance, it sparks something deeper. Something I refuse to name. “I will.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. He just watches me like he’s waiting for something. Then, with a sharp nod, he pushes off the desk and gestures toward the door.

“You’re dismissed,” he says, his tone clipped again.

I turn without another word, stepping out of the office and into the hallway. But even as I walk away, his gaze lingers, burning into my back.

***

Luna’s cherry-scented candles linger in the air like a warm hug.

“Honey, I’m home,” I call out as I drop my bag by the door and kick off my boots before padding toward the kitchen. A glass of water wouldn’t fix the mess that was today, but it was a start.

Especially since my throat has been dry since I left Agent Grant’s office.

“Honey, you’re late,” Luna calls back from the living room.

I peer over my shoulder to find her sprawled across the couch, a blanket draped over her legs and a book in her lap. She doesn’t look up, but I can feel her attention on me anyway.

“Wasn’t aware I had a curfew,” I say, grabbing a glass and opening the fridge to grab the water filter pitcher.

“You don’t,” she replies casually, turning a page. “But you’re usually home by now. You know I worry. What happened? And I assume you replaced your battery, right?”

She does worry. Outside of obvious reasons, she has the wildest imagination. It doesn’t take Luna much to flip momma bear mode on and assume I’m dead somewhere on the side of the road. And because of that, I normally send a text when I’m staying late or heading to the gym after work.

But that interaction with Grant threw me for a loop and slightly disoriented me, so I forgot to send my Hey, I’m not dead text.

“Yes, Betsy is back in action. And it’s nothing,” I say, leaning against the counter. The word felt hollow even to me, but I wasn’t about to unload the chaos of my day. Not here. Not now.

Luna finally looks up, her bright eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“And you’re awfully nosy.”

She smirks, setting her book aside. “It’s part of my charm.” She stands, stretching like a newborn before making her way to the kitchen. “Seriously, though. You’ve been on edge all week. What’s going on?”

“Work,” I respond, taking a sip of water.

“That’s vague, even for you,” she says as she grabs a bag of chips from the pantry. She shoots me a look after a second of silence as she leans against the counter beside me and opens the bag.

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” I say, my tone firmer this time. Not because I can’t confide in Luna but because I don’t even know what to say.

It feels like my infuriatingly hot boss has been picking on me?

Everyone thinks I will fail?

I’m not entirely sure I won’t fail?

I don’t want to worry her more than I already do. For all intents and purposes, Luna is my best friend and sister and would no doubt be there for me, but this just feels like something I have to face alone.

“Fair enough.” She shrugs before popping a chip into her mouth. “But you look like you’re two seconds away from punching a wall. Maybe consider taking up yoga or something.”

It’s my turn to shoot her a look, and she laughs. The sound is light and easy in a way that feels like a balm against the day’s heaviness.

“You know you don’t have to tell me. Not until you’re ready.” Her voice cuts the silence, her tone softer but serious. “But whatever it is, don’t let it eat you alive.”

I nod, grateful for the way Luna respects when to give me space. She gives me one last look before retreating to the couch, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I stare into my glass, Grant’s words echoing in my head: “ Prove it .”

The worst part wasn’t that he’d said it. It was that I wasn’t sure who I was trying to prove it to—him or myself.