Chapter 15
Hawk
Our second night was even better the first. I wake before she does, mostly out of habit. The suite is quiet, just the slow rhythm of her breathing against my shoulder.
Kat is curled toward me, one hand resting lightly against my chest like she anchored herself there sometime in the night. I don’t move yet. The world outside this room will restart soon enough. For now, I’m staying in this moment with her.
Kat stirs a few minutes later, lashes lifting slowly. There’s a split second where she looks disoriented — then her eyes focus on me and she remembers.
“You’re still here,” she murmurs.
“Wasn’t planning on leaving.”
The corner of her mouth curves faintly. That expression alone is worth every deviation I made. I slide carefully out of bed and pull on yesterday’s jeans, leaving her tangled in the sheets for another minute.
Coffee first.
The suite has a small machine near the mini bar. I make two cups and crack the curtains just enough to let morning spill in without fully exposing us to the city.
When I turn on the television, it’s mostly background noise. Until it isn’t.
“…breaking overnight developments in what authorities are calling a high-level cybercrime and financial fraud investigation…”
I glance up. Video fills the screen. Police vehicles outside the same building we exited approximately thirty-six hours ago. Men in suits being escorted out in handcuffs. Faces I recognize from the suite. The director among them — composed even now, but pale.
“…federal and international compliance agencies moved in late yesterday following an irregularity in a private diamond certification transfer—”
Kat steps up beside me. She goes very still.
“They moved fast,” she says quietly.
“They were waiting for something,” I reply.
On-screen footage shifts to a close-up of sealed evidence cases.
“…sources indicate embedded export-controlled processors discovered within certification hardware—”
There it is. Now, it’s public and exposed. Kat exhales slowly.
“They won’t recover from this,” she says.
“No.”
She watches a moment longer — not with triumph, but with closure. My phone vibrates on the table. Heartline secure line. Right on schedule. She looks at me.
“Debrief?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“You expecting trouble?”
“I’m expecting something.”
I silence the phone for now. One more minute. I hand her the second cup of coffee. She takes it, fingers brushing mine.
“This part,” she says quietly, nodding toward the screen. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see this.”
“You did that.”
“We did.”
I lift my cup slightly.
“To not disappearing.”
She taps her cup lightly against mine.
“To not disappearing.”
The phone vibrates again. Duty calls. And this time, I answer.
The call ends with three words. “Report in person.” No explanation or hints as to what I may expect. That’s typical.
Kat watches me from the edge of the bed, coffee cradled between both hands. The news continues behind her — footage looping, anchors speculating, analysts talking about international ramifications. The world has caught up to what we did.
“I have to go,” I say.
She nods once.
“I know.”
I walk to the window, part the curtain just enough to scan the street below. No visible surveillance. No black SUVs idling. No unusual foot traffic.
Still.
I don’t like leaving her.
“I’ll be back before noon,” I say.
“You don’t know that.”
No. I don’t. I turn toward her fully.
“If anyone knocks, you don’t answer.”
“I won’t.”
“If anything feels off …”
“I leave.”
“Through the service exit.”
“Yes.”
She’s calm. Too calm.
“You don’t have to handle this alone,” she adds quietly.
“I’m not.”
She studies me carefully.
“You’re expecting consequences.”
“Maybe.”
“And if there are?”
I hold her gaze.
“Then I’ll deal with them.”
Kat sets her coffee aside and crosses the room toward me. She slides her arms around my waist and presses her cheek briefly against my chest.
“You didn’t have to choose this,” she says softly.
“I did.”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me.
“If they push you out,” she says, “if Heartline decides you’re too unpredictable …”
“They won’t.”
“And if they do?” she presses.
I brush my thumb lightly along her jaw.
“Then I’ll adjust.”
Her mouth curves faintly at that. She’s memorized that word. I lean down and kiss her slower than last night,. When I step back, the room feels heavier.
“Lock the door behind me,” I say.
“I will.”
Then I open the door. The hallway is quiet. I step out. I don’t know exactly what’s waiting for me on the other side. But I know what I’m walking back to when it’s over.