I woke up slowly. My consciousness returning in rough waves that was accompanied with a pleasant warmth pressed against my chest and the faint scent of Sienna’s shampoo filling my nostrils. My arms were wrapped around her sleeping form, and she had one hand fisted in my shirt like she didn’t want to leave her.
The light filtering through the curtains suggested it was late afternoon. I’d probably been asleep for an hour or two at most. Not nearly enough to feel fully rested, but the emotional exhaustion of our conversation had apparently caught up with faster than I’d realized. My body felt heavy with the kind of bone-deep tiredness that cos after major emotional confrontations, the kind that no amount of physical rest can fully address.
Sienna’s face looked peaceful in sleep, the tear tracks on her cheeks long since dried. The tension that had been radiating from her earlier was gone, replaced by the kind of relaxation that only ca with genuine rest. Her breathing was deep and even, and occasionally she would make small, contented sounds that reminded of why I’d fallen in love with her in the first place. She was still holding onto , but it no longer felt desperate. I felt more like comfort, like she’d found a safe space and didn’t want to leave it.
I found myself studying her features in the dim light, noting the way her auburn hair had fallen across her face and how young she looked when all the worry lines were smoothed away by sleep. This was the woman who’d stood by through everything, who had treated with kindness even when I was nothing more than a failed construction worker. The woman I’d repeatedly disappointed with my inability to keep my word, yet who was still here, still holding onto even after everything I’d put her through.
Movent in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I turned my head toward the door to find Camille peeking into the room with barely suppressed amusent dancing in her eyes. When she saw that I was awake, she covered her mouth to stifle what sounded like a giggle.
I could already imagine the teasing Sienna was going to endure once Camille got hold of this scene. The sight of us curled up together like this, with Sienna clinging to in sleep, was exactly the kind of material Camille loved to use for her gentle tornt of the others. But honestly, I didn’t mind. Camille’s teasing was always affectionate rather than an-spirited, and if it helped lighten the mood after everything that had happened today, I was all for it.
I began the delicate process of removing myself from Sienna’s grip without waking her up. It was harder than it should have been. It was like her construction worker strength was still active even in sleep, and her arms were locked around with surprising determination. Every ti I tried to shift away, she would unconsciously tighten her hold and mumble sothing unintelligible into my shirt. At one point, she actually said my na in her sleep, which made my chest tighten with a complex mix of guilt and affection.
Camille watched my struggles with growing amusent, pressing her hand more firmly over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. She was clearly enjoying the sight of being held captive by soone three fourths my size, and I could practically see her filing away ntal notes for future teasing ammunition. After several minutes of careful maneuvering that felt more like defusing a bomb than getting out of bed, I finally managed to slip free without disturbing Sienna’s rest.
She imdiately curled up around the pillow I’d been lying on, pulling it tight against her chest as if her subconscious was trying to maintain contact with whatever warmth and comfort I’d been providing. The sight of her clutching that pillow like a lifeline made sothing twist in my stomach. It was a reminder of how much damage my lies had done to soone who deserved nothing but honesty from .
I quietly made my way to the door, where Camille imdiately retreated to avoid being caught spying. By the ti I stepped into the hallway, she was already heading toward the kitchen with an expression of exaggerated innocence that fooled absolutely no one.
In the kitchen, I found an unexpected scene that montarily distracted from any thoughts that I might have previously had. Evelyn was standing near the counter with her phone in hand, showing sothing to Alexis and Camille. All three of them were clustered around the device, though Evelyn still wore her blindfold. The sight was oddly dostic after everything that had happened today. Three won giggling over sothing on a phone like any normal group of friends sharing photos.
"This was when we were returning from the United Nations eting," Evelyn was saying, her voice carrying a note of fond amusent. "Reynard’s System got disabled, so Anthony had to carry him like a princess through the entire airport. I thought you might enjoy seeing it."
I rembered that incident vividly. The disorientation of having all my skills suddenly shut off, the embarrassnt of being completely helpless, and the resigned professionalism with which Anthony had simply scooped up and carried through the terminal like I was luggage. At the ti, it had been humiliating and it really is an unfortunate downside of using Full Profession Sync. Though, I guess in hindsight, it was probably pretty funny.
Alexis and Camille leaned in closer to look at whatever was on the screen, but their expressions quickly shifted from anticipation to confusion.
"Evelyn," Camille said carefully, "this is a picture of a docunt. So kind of governntal form, I think."
"What?" Evelyn’s brow furrowed beneath her blindfold. "That can’t be right. I specifically selected the photo of—" Her expression cleared as understanding dawned, and I could see her ntally cataloging this limitation of her abilities. "Oh. Right. Give a second."
It was a fascinating insight into how her enhanced perception worked. Psychological Insight let her read people’s emotions and intentions through micro-expressions, tone of voice, body language, and unconscious behavioral cues. But a photograph was just a static image. It had no active psychology to read, no living mind to analyze. To her blindfolded self, it might as well have been a blank page.
She swiped right on the phone’s screen, and imdiately both Alexis and Camille burst into delighted laughter.
"Oh my god," Alexis managed between giggles. "Anthony is actually carrying him bridal style. And his expression..." She dissolved into fresh laughter, and I could only imagine what my face had looked like in that mont of complete helplessness.
"Wait, wait," Camille said, taking the phone from Evelyn with the eager expression she got whenever she spotted an opportunity for creative mischief. "I can make this better."
Her fingers flew across the screen as she opened what looked like a sophisticated photo editing app. I watched in fascination as she worked, wondering exactly what kind of horror she was about to inflict on my dignity. Camille might be lazy about most things, but when it ca to fashion, design, or humorous photo manipulation, she could work with startling speed and precision.
Within seconds, she’d sohow managed to digitally add a pink dress to in the image, complete with ruffles, flowing fabric, and what appeared to be a delicate tiara perched on my head. The editing was remarkably professional. She’d even adjusted the lighting and shadows to make the additions look natural.
"Perfect," she announced, showing the edited version to Alexis, who imdiately started laughing so hard she had to lean against the counter for support.
"You have to send this to Anthony," Alexis wheezed. "He needs to see what you’ve done to his boss."
I cleared my throat from the kitchen doorway, and all three of them turned toward with expressions ranging from amused to slightly guilty. The sudden silence was almost comical. Like a bunch of children who’d been caught drawing mustaches on family portraits.
"Having fun?" I asked, though I couldn’t quite suppress a smile at their antics.
"Just appreciating so of your finer monts," Camille said with mock seriousness, holding up the phone so I could see her handiwork. "I think pink is definitely your color."
I had to admit, seeing myself dressed like a fairy tale princess while being carried through an airport was pretty ridiculous. The fact that Evelyn’s Psychological Insight had failed her because photographs don’t have emotions or intentions just made the whole situation more absurd.
"Very flattering," I said dryly. "I’ll have to ask Anthony for copies to put up in my office."
"How’s Sienna?" Evelyn asked, her tone shifting to sothing more serious.
"We talked," I said simply. "She’s sleeping now. I think we’ll be okay, but it’s going to take ti."
Alexis nodded approvingly. "Good. These things can’t be rushed."
"Speaking of which," Camille interjected, "we’ve made so decisions about your future experints." Her tone had taken on the kind of mock-authority that suggested this was going to be a lecture disguised as friendly conversation.
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Alexis is going to be constantly monitoring your physical condition from now on," Evelyn said. "No more hiding injuries or pushing yourself beyond safe limits without dical oversight."
"And I’ll be checking up on every mission you take," Evelyn continued. "If there are risks involved that you haven’t properly assessed, I want to know about them before you do sothing stupid."
"What about you, Camille?" I asked, curious what role she’d assigned herself in this new oversight structure.
She shrugged with characteristic honesty. "I’m good on taking on any major responsibilities, it’s just not my style you know? Especially if they’re not related to making outfits or looking fabulous. But I’ll probably notice if you’re acting weird and tell the others."
Despite everything that had happened today, I found myself genuinely touched by their concern. They weren’t trying to control or stop from taking necessary risks. They were just trying to make sure I didn’t have to face those risks alone. It was a different kind of support than I was used to, one that acknowledged my autonomy while still providing a safety net.
"Actually," Camille continued, glancing toward the windows with a slight frown, "both Alexis and I need to leave the apartnt for a few hours. There are supplies she said that she needs to acquire for the next phase of experints, and I have so fabric orders to pick up from my usual suppliers. But we can’t leave until Anthony gives us the all-clear about the security situation."
"It is becoming a problem," Alexis agreed, her expression growing more serious. "I need to visit so specialized dical suppliers who don’t deliver. The equipnt I need for proper monitoring isn’t the kind of thing you can order online. It requires specific certifications and in-person verification. Plus, so of the compounds we’ll be working with have very strict chain-of-custody requirents."
The reminder of our current situation, of being effectively trapped in the apartnt until the assassination threat was resolved, cast a shadow over the lighter mood that had been developing. We’d all been trying to maintain so sense of normalcy, but the reality was that we were prisoners in our own ho, unable to move freely until Anthony’s investigation was complete.
As if summoned by the ntion of his na, my phone started ringing from where I’d left it on the counter. Anthony’s contact information appeared on the screen, and I felt a familiar mix of anticipation and dread. Calls from Anthony usually ant either very good news or very bad news, with very little middle ground between those extres.
"Speak of the devil," I muttered, reaching for the phone.
Then I paused, rembering my earlier resolution about transparency and honesty. Instead of stepping away to take the call privately, I put it on speaker before answering.
"Anthony," I said. "You’re on speaker with everyone here."
"Boss," ca Anthony’s voice, carrying a note of satisfaction that imdiately got my attention. "We got them."
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