12. Max
Max
She has dead eyes.
From here, you’d never know it. I’m standing at my office window, watching Lucy give Sophie the tour of the grounds. They’re down by the fountain now, Lucy gesturing animatedly while Sophie nods along with that soft, uncertain expression, making herself look small and harmless.
But it’s just an act. I know, because a few hours ago she sat in my office with as much warmth as a loaded gun. And when I looked into her eyes, there was nothing behind them. It was like staring down a well with no bottom.
Lucy leads her toward the gardens, and I watch as Roberto looks up from his roses as they pass—our head groundskeeper, pushing seventy, been here longer than I’ve been alive.
Sophie turns to greet him, and even from this distance I can see the transformation. The shy smile and the slight duck of her head. The body language that says I’m just a nervous new employee, please like me.
Roberto’s entire posture changes. His shoulders relax. He pushes himself to his feet, and Sophie throws her head back, laughing at something he said, open and easy and so goddamn effortless.
In a matter of minutes, she’s got him wrapped around her finger. Just like that.
If he knew the truth about her, he’d probably have a heart attack.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s exactly why she’s perfect for this job. No one suspects the pretty omega with the nervous smile and the frilly pink blouse.
Griffin was right about everything. That should make me feel better. It doesn’t.
I turn away from the window and check my watch. It’s nearly six, enough for one day.
I grab my coat and head out. The residence is a straight shot through the eastern gardens, but tonight I’m in no hurry to get there. I veer toward the river instead and take the long way home.
The evening air is cool, carrying the scent of fresh-cut grass and the first hints of jasmine from the trellis near Elena’s kitchen garden. The river runs low and slow this time of year, winding along the edge of the property, catching the last of the light.
The house comes into view as I round the final bend. It’s nothing like the manor I grew up in, thank God. This house is ours, something my pack built together.
I push through the front door and the warmth hits me immediately. The smell of woodsmoke from the fireplace, the faint lingering scent of whatever Elena sent over for dinner.
“In here,” Finn calls from the living room.
I hang my coat on the hook by the door and go to join him. It’s my favorite space in the house, the fire already going, throwing warm light over the old Persian rug Ethan dragged home from an estate sale years ago.
Finn is sprawled on one end of the sofa, phone in hand, thumb moving idly across the screen. He’s changed out of his suit into jeans and a sweater, his hair slightly mussed. Ethan is in the armchair nearest the fire, absorbed in a book.
“Rough day?” Ethan asks, looking up as I enter.
“You could say that.” I loosen my tie as I cross the room. “The quarterly projections came in. We’re ahead of schedule on two of the clinical trials, but the regulatory paperwork for Equinox is going to be a nightmare.”
“We always knew that it would be.” Ethan closes his book and sets it aside. “The FDA doesn’t know what to do with compounds that don’t fit their existing frameworks, but we’ll get there.”
I sink into the other armchair. The fire crackles and pops, sending shadows dancing across the walls. For a moment, none of us speak. It’s the comfortable silence of men who have known each other half a lifetime.
But something feels off.
I glance at Finn. He’s staring into the fire, his jaw tight, the phone gone dark and forgotten in his hand. He hasn’t said a word since I walked in, and a quiet Finn is as rare as a snowball in hell.
Ethan notices too. His gray eyes flick from Finn to me and back again, a question forming behind his glasses.
“Alright.” Ethan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on with you?”
Finn blinks, surfacing from whatever thoughts had pulled him under. “What?”
“You’ve been acting strange all day. You barely said two words in the meeting this morning. And now you’re sitting there looking like someone kicked your dog.” Ethan tilts his head, studying him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Finn wakes the screen, the motion mechanical and automatic. “Just tired.”
I watch the way his shoulders tense and he won’t quite meet our eyes.
“Is this about our new hire?” I ask.
Finn’s head snaps toward me. His grip tightens on the phone, knuckles going white for just a second before he forces his fingers to relax.
“Why would it be about her?”
“I don’t know.” I hold his gaze. “You tell me.”
The silence stretches. Finn’s throat works, but whatever he means to say, he swallows it.
“No, of course not.” His voice comes out weaker this time.
He’s lying, alright.
But I don’t push. If Finn wants to talk about it, he will. If he doesn’t, no amount of prodding will change his mind.
“There’s something about her,” I say slowly. “Something that makes me uneasy.”
“Uneasy how?” Ethan asks.
“When I look at her, really look at her, it’s like there’s nothing there.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Her eyes are empty. Like she’s not really a person, just something wearing a person’s skin.”
“That’s unsettling,” Ethan murmurs.
“She’s supposed to be unsettling,” Finn says.
Ethan and I both look up at him. He’s barely spoken all evening, and now there’s an anger in his voice sharper than the moment calls for.
“She’s a spy. Of course her eyes are empty, it’s her job to be no one. She becomes exactly what you need her to be, someone easy to trust.”
I look over at Finn. He still won’t meet our eyes, just staring into the fire, his expression intense.
It’s definitely Sophie bothering him, then. I rarely see Finn judge anyone this fast, not without getting to know them first.
“It’s more than that.” I shake my head. “I’ve met cold people before, calculating ones. This is different, like whatever makes someone human has been carved out of her.”
The words hang in the air. The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
“Well,” Ethan says after a moment, “let’s hope she uses that to find our mole quickly.”
“Speaking of quickly.” Finn straightens up, some of his usual energy returning. “How long do you think this investigation is going to take? Days? Weeks?”
“However long it takes,” I say.
Finn groans. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have.”
“Fine.” He tosses his phone onto the cushion beside him. “In that case, I vote we go out Friday night. Blow off some steam.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Go out where?”
“You know where.” Finn grins, but there’s something brittle underneath it. “Our usual place. Good music, good drinks, and even better company.”
We all know which place Finn means. The club downtown where wealthy alphas go to meet omegas and betas looking for a good time, no strings attached and no expectations.
We used to go more often when we were younger. These days we only go once a month, maybe less. And lately...
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not really in the mood.”
“Not in the mood?” Finn stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Since when are you not in the mood?”
Since every face started blending into the next and I realized that no matter how many beautiful women I take to bed, I still wake up the next morning feeling exactly the same.
Empty.
I don’t say any of that. Instead, I just shrug. “It’s been a long week. I’d rather stay in.”
“What about Saturday?” Ethan offers. “We could go after dinner at my mother’s.”
Finn perks up. “Now that’s an idea. Good food, then good—”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Saturday dinner. That’s this week?”
“I told you last week.” Ethan’s mouth twitches with amusement. “And the week before that. And the week before that.”
“I know, I just...” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I forgot. Things have been hectic.”
“She’s making her braciole,” Ethan adds, and despite myself, my mouth waters.
Rosa Brooks makes the best braised beef I’ve ever tasted.
The woman could probably charge five hundred dollars a plate at any restaurant in the city, but instead she insists on cooking for us herself every few weeks.
Won’t hear of us bringing anything but wine.
“Fine,” I say. “Saturday dinner. But I’m still not sure about going out after.”
“Come on, Max.” Finn leans forward, his blue eyes bright with something that might be desperation. “It would be good for all of us. Just a few hours. Let off some steam.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “We could all use a distraction right now.”
A distraction. From what, exactly?
I study him for a long moment. He’s reaching for any excuse to get out of his own head. And maybe, with everything that’s going on, it might not be such a bad idea.
“Come on,” he tries again. “It’s just one night out. When’s the last time we did something just for fun?”
I glance at Ethan, who shrugs. “It might be nice. Clear our heads before we dive deeper into this mess.”
Two against one.
“Fine,” I hear myself say. “But let’s go on Friday. And I reserve the right to leave early if I’m not feeling it.”
Finn’s face splits into a grin. “Deal.”
I lean back and let the fire’s warmth settle into my chest. Across from me, Finn is already looking more relaxed, some of the strange tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Ethan picks up his book again, though I notice he’s watching both of us over the top of the pages.
My mind drifts back to Sophie. Those empty eyes. That hollow gaze.
What happened to her? What could possibly carve someone out so completely?
“I have a feeling,” I say quietly, almost to myself, “that this investigation won’t take as long as you think.”
Finn looks up. “What makes you say that?”
I don’t answer. I just stare into the fire and think about dead eyes and what it takes to hollow someone out like that.
Whatever Sophie is, whatever made her this way, it’s turned her into exactly what we need.
A weapon.