“Shit.”

The word left me the second the apartment door closed behind me.

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

“Shit.”

I dragged both hands through my hair and paced across the living room.

Then back again.

Then back again.

Like movement would somehow fix this.

Like if I kept moving long enough, I wouldn't have to think about the look on Noah's face.

The fear.

The tear.

The way he'd looked up at me and said—

"Lucas, you're hurting me."

My stomach twisted violently.

I braced my hands against the kitchen counter.

Head lowered.

Eyes squeezed shut.

Jesus Christ.

I hurt him.

Not intentionally.

Not because I wanted to.

But that didn't matter.

The result was the same.

For one second—

Noah was afraid of me.

The thought knocked the air straight out of my lungs.

I inhaled sharply.

Nothing.

My chest felt tight.

Too tight.

Like someone had wrapped steel around my ribs.

I forced another breath.

Then another.

Still not enough.

The apartment suddenly felt too empty.

Too quiet.

Too big.

Noah wasn't here.

And it was killing me.

I pushed away from the counter.

I had to find something to do.

I needed to stay busy.

I missed him.

God, I missed him.

I wanted to give him space.

I knew he needed it.

After everything that happened today, he deserved that much.

But—

I wanted to know he got there safely.

My hand found my phone before I'd fully made the decision.

Home.

The word hit me unexpectedly.

I started typing.

Let me know when you get home.

My thumb hovered over the screen.

Then I erased it.

Because that wasn't what I meant.

I wanted this place to be his home.

I wanted me to be his home.

The thought hurt more than it should have.

I swallowed hard and started again.

Hey, text me when you get to your mom's house.

I hit send.

The message disappeared.

And somehow the apartment felt even emptier than before.

I stared at my phone.

Waited.

Nothing.

Of course nothing.

He was two hours away.

Probably still in the car.

Probably sitting beside his mom.

Probably trying not to think about me.

The thought made my stomach twist.

I shoved the phone into my pocket.

I needed something to do.

Anything.

Because if I sat here much longer, I was going to drive to his mother's house and make everything worse.

My thumb found Dylan's number.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Then—

“Lucas.”

No greeting.

No surprise.

Just my name.

“I need work.”

Silence.

A short one.

But enough.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“You sound desperate.”

“I said I need work.”

Another pause.

Then—

“Come to the warehouse.”

The line went dead.

Of course it did.

I grabbed my keys.

Thirty minutes later I was standing in Dylan's office.

He didn't look up immediately.

Just kept writing something.

Making me wait.

Eventually he set the pen down.

“Let me guess,” he said.

I said nothing.

“You and Noah had a fight.”

My jaw tightened.

Dylan smiled slightly.

“There it is.”

“I didn't come here to talk about Noah.”

“No,” Dylan agreed.

“You came here because talking about Noah would hurt.”

I hated when he did that.

“Give me something to do.”

His eyes studied me for a moment.

Longer than necessary.

Then—

“I actually do have something.”

That got my attention.

Dylan leaned back in his chair.

“Someone's been stealing from one of the research divisions.”

My frown deepened.

“Prototype drugs. Experimental products that aren't supposed to leave the facility.”

That got my attention.

“And you know who's doing it?”

“We have suspicions.”

Dylan slid a file across the desk.

I opened it.

Inside were photographs of a man in a lab coat.

Different dates.

Different locations.

Employee badge visible in several shots.

“He works at the company?”

“For now.”

I flipped through the pictures.

Nothing stood out.

Average height.

Average build.

Forgettable face.

The kind of person you'd never notice twice.

“What's he doing with the drugs?”

“We don't know.”

Dylan's jaw tightened.

“But we know they're disappearing, and we know he's connected.”

I looked up.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Watch him.”

The answer came immediately.

“Follow him. Learn his routine. Find out where the drugs are going.”

“And if he's innocent?”

“Then you wasted a few days.”

Something told me Dylan didn't think that was likely.

I looked back at the file.

“Why me?”

“Because you're new.”

I waited.

“People don't know your face yet.”

Fair point.

Dylan stood and walked toward the window.

“We think he's meeting someone.”

“Who?”

“We don't know.”

His voice grew colder.

“But if he's selling company property, he's not acting alone.”

I stared at the photographs.

A simple surveillance job.

At least that's what it sounded like.

But with Dylan, nothing was ever simple.

“When do I start?”

“Tonight.”

Work.

Home.

Nothing suspicious.

Nothing useful.

Until he left the house after midnight.

I followed.

Ten minutes.

Twenty.

Thirty.

The city slowly changed around us.

Less traffic.

Fewer people.

Older buildings.

Eventually he pulled into the parking lot behind a rundown car wash.

I parked across the street and waited.

The scientist got out.

A black duffel bag hung from his shoulder.

My stomach tightened.

There it is.

He looked around once.

Twice.

Then headed toward the side of the building.

I waited another minute before following.

Careful.

Quiet.

The bag disappeared around the corner.

I moved after him.

And froze.

He wasn't alone.

Two men stood beside a black SUV.

Neither looked like scientists.

The scientist handed over the bag.

One of the men opened it.

Looked inside.

Nodded.

Money changed hands.

The scientist looked nervous.

The other two didn't.

I reached for my phone.

Dylan needed to know.

Then one of them looked up.

Straight at me.

Shit.

For a second nobody moved.

Then—

“Who's that?”

The scientist turned.

His face immediately drained of color.

One of the men reached inside his jacket.

The scientist bolted.

The second man grabbed him before he got two steps.

The first started toward me.

Fast.

Purposeful.

My pulse spiked.

I backed up.

“Don't.”

The warning sounded weak even to me.

He ignored it.

Kept coming.

I saw the gun the second it cleared his jacket.

Training took over.

Everything slowed.

Distance.

Movement.

Timing.

The things Dylan had drilled into me.

The man raised the weapon.

I reacted.

Not thought.

Reacted.

The shot echoed through the alley.

Then another.

Then silence.

The second man reached for his own gun.

Too late.

Everything happened so fast it barely felt real.

And then—

It was over.

The alley went quiet.

My ears rang.

The scientist stared at me.

Terrified.

The duffel bag sat on the ground between us.

Neither of us moved.

For several seconds I just stood there.

Waiting for panic.

Waiting for guilt.

Waiting for something.

Nothing came.

What is happening to me?

Noah would hate this.

The thought came instantly.

Before regret.

Before fear.

Before anything else.

The scientist swallowed hard.

“W-what do you want from me?”

I looked at him.

Then at the duffel bag.

The answer was obvious.

“We're going to see Dylan.”

The scientist's face somehow became even paler.

I grabbed the bag.

Pulled out my phone.

And made the call.

“Dylan.”

“Yes?”

“I have him. I had to take out a couple of guys.”

A brief pause.

“Are they dead?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Bring him to me. I'll send a cleanup crew once you send me the location.”

The call ended.

I forced the scientist into the trunk of my car.

I actually felt bad for him.

What he was about to go through wouldn't compare to what happened to those other guys.

I put the drugs in the passenger seat.

Then started driving.

The ride back wasn't quiet.

The scientist spent most of it crying.

Begging.

Screaming.

Promising things I wasn't listening to.

I almost asked how much money it took to make him betray Dylan's family.

But it wouldn't change anything.

Once we reached the warehouse, Nico was already waiting outside.

He started walking toward the car before I'd even parked.

Straight for the trunk.

That couldn't be a good sign.

I got out and opened it.

The scientist was unconscious.

Nico looked inside and smiled.

“Looks like he saved me some time.”

He grabbed the man and threw him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

I watched him start toward the warehouse.

Then—

Nico glanced back.

“You handled yourself tonight.”

I said nothing.

“Most people throw up after the first time.”

His eyes drifted over me.

Studying.

Measuring.

“You didn't.”

And somehow—

That felt worse than congratulations.

Nico disappeared into the warehouse with the scientist.

I stood beside my car.

Alone.

Trying to figure out why I wasn't disgusted.

Why I wasn't horrified.

Why I wasn't shaking.

Because I should have been.

Shouldn't I?

I went back to my apartment. 

All I could think about was Noah.

I pulled out my phone.

A text.

Hours old.

My stomach dropped.

Noah.

I opened it immediately.

I'm home, Lucas.

Home.

I wrapped my hand around my bracelet. 

The word hit me right in the gut… Hard. 

Not because he was wrong.

His mom's house was home.

It had been long before I ever came back into his life.

But for some reason—

It still hurt.

Maybe because a part of me wanted this apartment to feel like home to him.

Maybe because I wanted him to come back.

My eyes drifted to the couch.

To the blanket he'd left behind.

To the coffee mug still sitting in the sink.

The apartment didn't feel like home without him.

And now I'd left him waiting for hours.

Shit.

I rubbed a hand over my face.

I needed to text him back.

Right now.

My thumbs hovered over the screen.

A dozen things fought for space.

I'm sorry.

Are you okay?

Please come back.

I miss you.

None of them felt right.

None of them felt fair.

Not after today.

Not after what I'd done.

Eventually I typed:

Glad you made it there safe.

I stared at it.

Then hit send.

The message disappeared.