Chapter 42 #2
Jake calls out, one foot on the stairs, “There’s thin walls in this joint. Just saying.”
“Jake!” Quinn yells from downstairs.
My cheeks heat in embarrassment, although it’s unnecessary. These guys aren’t judging, at least, not really.
“You ready to go to bed? You need anything? Water?”
“Nah. I'm toast. Ready to call it a night.”
I go back to the entry where I left my bag, and Rhodes takes it from me, telling me to lead the way.
We walk through the downstairs hallway, navigating the unfamiliar space together.
Behind closed doors, evidence of the team’s nighttime routines filters through—lights casting thin golden lines beneath doorways, floorboards creaking under unseen footsteps, water pipes humming as faucets run.
The house smells of fresh laundry, coffee lingering from earlier, and a faint woodsy scent through an open window somewhere.
“It feels like camp, doesn’t it?” I ask Rhodes as I close our door, suddenly aware of how small the room is—a queen bed taking up most of the space, a simple dresser, and a reading lamp casting warm amber light across plain white walls.
The bedspread is faded blue plaid, worn soft from washing--not the plush comforter we shared days ago, but something with character, with history.
Practical, unpretentious, worlds away from the luxury hotel suite in D.C.
“It’s fine for tonight,” he says, dropping his backpack on the bed. The mattress sinks slightly under its weight. He unzips the bag and pulls out a toothbrush and toothpaste, domestic items that somehow feel intimate.
The overhead light casts shadows across his face, highlighting the fatigue around his eyes, the tension he’s carried through a day of inquiries and betrayals. When he runs a hand through his hair, I notice it trembles slightly—a small tell from a man who maintains such careful control.
“When everything was wrapping back in D.C., all I cared about was finding you.” The confession hangs in the air between us, unadorned by qualifications or explanations. Just raw truth.
I understand what he’s saying, but it’s a lot because I feel the same.
I’d been trying to ignore it, but sitting with the team, I’d felt a yearning, wondering how things were going for him and when I’d see him again.
Instead of saying all that though, I say, “Well, you heard what he said about thin walls,” and half-smile, so he sees I’m teasing.
Rhodes doesn’t take the tease, though. “It’s not about sex, Syd. In fact, this room could have stone walls and I’m too wiped to do anything but hold you tonight. But I want to hold you. So, here I am.”
I'm struck silent. We stare at each other, my heart thundering from fear, the kind of fear one feels before taking a leap from a plane. It’s something you want to do, but the self-protection part of you is screaming, “Are you out of your mind?”.
I study Rhodes. When he commits, he’s all in. I’ve never been all in before, but I want to take the leap. I want to try.
There’s an attached bathroom, and he steps inside, flipping the light on. We move about like a regular couple, quietly getting ready for bed.
When we climb in, me in a T-shirt and him in boxers, I roll into his side, my head on his shoulder. The lights are out and the house is quiet.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly, feeling his muscles tense beneath me. The slow, steady thud of his heart vibrates against my ear—slightly elevated, belying the calm he projects. “With Miles? That had to have been hard.”
His chest expands with a deep breath that seems to draw from somewhere beyond his physical body—the kind of breath people take before diving into cold water or delivering difficult news.
“It’ll take me a lot more than a few days to process,” he admits, his voice vibrating through his chest into my ear.
“Twenty years of friendship. College. Two companies. We built ARGUS from nothing—sleeping on office floors, living on ramen, working until we couldn’t see straight.
” The memories color his voice with a warmth that makes the betrayal all the more stark.
“I knew we were growing apart. Knew he saw a different future for the company. But I never imagined…” He trails off, searching for words.
“I think what gets me the most is that he was okay with the idea of Daisy, a mutual friend, undergoing physical torture to get his way. There’s a line there that I didn’t think he could cross. ”
“Well, he wasn’t going to be the one administering it,” I point out, trying to offer some perspective.
“True.” His arm tightens around me slightly. “Nevertheless, he set it in motion, knowing exactly what it meant.” His voice drops lower. “He was willing to let them take you, too. That’s something I can’t reconcile with the person I thought I knew. I misjudged him.”
The simple truth in his words touches me deeply.
“That’s...either he’s changed fundamentally, or I never saw him for who he really was.” The vulnerability in his admission feels like a rare gift. “That’s what I’ll be processing for a long time. If I missed something that significant in someone I trusted completely, what else might I be missing?”
I lift my head to look at him directly. “Sometimes people surprise us—for better or worse. It doesn’t mean your judgment is flawed. It means people are complex, and pressure reveals their true priorities.”
His eyes search mine, finding something there that softens his expression. “Including us?”
“Especially us,” I confirm. “Neither of us expected this when we met on that mountain trail.”
“True.”
“You can’t hold yourself accountable for someone else’s weakness.”
“Weakness? You think that’s what it was?”
“Well, morally weak, right?”
“Hmm. Maybe. Earlier today, I saw it as hubris. The belief that he knew best, that he could force the direction forward.” He lets out a long sigh.
“What happens now?” I ask, tracing idle patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat against my palm.
“Tomorrow I plan to hire a protective detail for Daisy.”
“What?”
“She’s investigating a shady firm. You’d think after today she’d let me hire private investigators but she won’t listen. I’m not sure I can trust the outfit I used to hire a protection detail in D.C., so I’ll ask Hudson.”
“It’s not exactly what KOAN does, but I’m sure he’ll help you out. Or he’ll know resources. But, what about everything else? Does today impact ARGUS?”
He’s quiet for a moment, gathering thoughts. “Well, there’s going to be a congressional investigation. Multiple ones, probably. The Senate Intelligence Committee is already drafting subpoenas.” His voice remains steady, but I can feel the tension beneath. “I might need to shut ARGUS down entirely.”
I shift up onto my elbow, searching his face in the dim light. “Do you think it will come to that?”
“Maybe.” His eyes meet mine, resolute despite the exhaustion.
“What I know for certain is that I won’t let any government commandeer it—not after what we’ve seen.
Our government already proved it doesn’t deserve that level of trust. There are too many cracks in the system, too many opportunities for someone with selfish motives to take advantage. ”
His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. “If I continue operating ARGUS, it will be with an independent oversight committee. People I trust, with diverse backgrounds—ethics experts, civil liberties advocates, technical specialists. No single entity should control that kind of power.”
The conviction in his voice reminds me why I came to trust him in the first place. This isn’t about profit or power—it’s about responsibility.
“You should talk to Hudson,” I suggest, an idea forming. “Our mission aligns with your ethics—using technology to hold powerful people accountable when traditional systems fail. ARGUS could help root out corruption rather than enabling it.”
His expression shifts, interest kindling. “A partnership rather than government oversight.”
“Exactly. The technology isn’t inherently problematic—it’s how it’s used. In the right hands, with the right guardrails…”
“It could do what I originally designed it for—making the world more transparent, not less.” A genuine smile touches his lips. “I’d need to meet with Hudson, understand KOAN’s structure better.”
“Caroline’s open to it,” I say.
“Caroline Moore? Dorian Moore? He’s the one behind KOAN?”
“No. It’s all Caroline. It’s her baby. I don’t know why she’s so secretive about it. I’ll need to ask. But I like the idea of KOAN and ARGUS working together.” I hesitate, then add, “And I could help navigate. I understand both worlds now.”
The possibility hangs between us—not just a personal future, but a professional one where our separate skills might create something better than either could achieve alone.
“We’d be like Prometheus and Athena,” he says softly.
“How so?”
“Bringing fire and wisdom to humanity.” His fingers, the ones that have been brushing up and down my arm in comforting strokes, slow. “Do you really find mythology interesting? Or was that part of the cover?”
“I find it interesting because you do,” I admit, honesty feeling easier in the darkness. “The same way you might find intelligence operations interesting because of me.”
“Got it.” His fingers trace lazy patterns along my arm. “Meeting halfway.”
“While I find mythology and philosophy interesting, I wouldn’t choose to read Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces on vacation if left to my own devices.” I smile against his chest, remembering my studious preparation.
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. “Did you actually read that by the pool or something?”
“Yes. And I strategically positioned it in my lap in the hotel lobby, hoping you’d notice.” The confession feels lighter now, almost amusing in retrospect.
“I never noticed the book,” he admits. “All I saw was this outdoorsy, stubborn, determined woman who struck me as quite different from anyone I’d ever met.
Someone who challenged me from the first moment—on the trail, in conversation.
Someone who reminded me that with the right person, life can be pretty fucking great. ”
“I’m still all of those things,” I remind him, suddenly needing him to understand that my cover wasn’t entirely fabrication. “At least, I hope.”
His hand finds mine in the darkness, our fingers interlacing with the easy familiarity of much older lovers.
“That’s what makes this real,” he says quietly.
“The parts that remain true despite everything.” He presses his lips to my hair, and his chest rises and falls through a deep inhale and exhale.
“Was there anything else? That wasn’t true? ”
I consider. “I tried to keep my story as close to the truth as possible.”
“You didn’t know what ARGUS could uncover.”
“Right, but it’s also just smart practice.” I circle his nipple with my nail, thoughtful. “I told you my parents live in Alaska.”
“Yeah?”
“They don’t.”
“Where—”
“When I first started, I’d say that. No one looks for anyone in Alaska. When you asked, I suppose I preferred the lie to the truth.”
“Where are they?”
“My father died five years ago. Coast Guard. In line of duty. Boarded a vessel.” I close my eyes, remembering my mother’s tear-stricken voice, telling me on the phone, as I was on a different continent.
“My mother died about a year later. Heart attack. In retrospect, she’d had symptoms but I thought she was suffering from depression.
Side effects from meds to help her sleep. That wasn’t the case.”
His hold on me tightens.
“Anyway, I don’t tell anyone that. Ever.” The moment’s heavy, too heavy, so I lighten it with, “And everything else…about me…true.”
“Syd, I’m falling for you, you know that, right? This? Us? I’m all in.”
“Same.” Yes, I should say more, but I can’t right now. I’m exhausted and too emotional, but I’m so grateful he’s here with me now, that he followed me down here so we could hold each other tonight.
Outside, the night has deepened, the mountain silence broken only by distant owl calls and the soft whisper of wind through pine needles.
“One thing’s certain,” Rhodes murmurs, his voice carrying the edge of sleep, “I’m looking forward to discovering everything about you.” His lips brush my forehead. “No more covers. Just us.”
When I lift my head to look at him, something shifts in his eyes—a tenderness mixed with desire that sends warmth spreading through me.
This time, when our lips meet, it’s different.
No urgency, no desperation. Just us, finally free of every pretense.
We move together slowly, making love with quiet intensity, coming together with nothing between us, like we have all the time in the world. Because we do.
As his breathing deepens into sleep, I remain awake a moment longer, watching moonlight filter through the window blinds, casting silver patterns across unfamiliar walls. The world of Washington—with its political machinations and competing ambitions—feels blissfully far away.
Tomorrow will bring debriefs and decisions, congressional investigations and career choices. But tonight, in this quiet room far from the world’s demands, we’ve found something neither of us expected when this began.
Not a mission. Not a project. Something real.
Something worth building a future around.