Chapter 8
Katherine
The witching hour's hush enveloped Katherine like an old lover's embrace, disturbed only by the gentle hum of dormant electronics and the faint, rhythmic throb of urban life beyond the glass.
Darkness pooled between abandoned desks, transforming the corporate battleground into her private cathedral.
But she is still here.
Her screen is flooded with case files, legal documents, court records—her father’s case buried in the mess of it all. She scrolls through the evidence, cross-referencing details, her teeth sinking into her lower lip in focus. The rest of the world is gone.
Then—a soft sound.
A door clicking shut.
Her pulse spikes. She jolts, heart hammering until she sees him.
Joshua leans against the doorway, arms crossed, his usual easygoing smirk in place.
Unbothered. Relaxed.
“Winters," he drawls, mock disbelief dripping from every word, “are you secretly running this place? Because I swear, every time I leave late, you’re still here."
Katherin exhales, pushing the tension from her shoulders.
No suspicion. Just Joshua being Joshua.
She smirks. “Someone’s gotta keep this firm from crumbling under Sinclair’s tyrannical rule."
Joshua lets out a low chuckle as he steps deeper into the office.
“And here I thought I was the only one too stubborn to go home at a reasonable hour," he says, voice light but not unkind. His smile flickers in the dim glow of the desk lamp. “Now I find you still camped out here, stealing my title."
She arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. She leans back in her chair, the leather creaking softly. “I wasn’t aware late-night overworking was a competition."
Joshua grins. “It’s not. But if it were, I’d like to think I’d be at least mildly hard to beat."
Kath smirks, dry. “You’re not. I’m winning by miles. Try harder."
He presses a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “Brutal. Next time I bring coffee and bribes."
She hums, finally letting a hint of amusement show.
“Now that might earn you a few points."
Shakes her head, but she doesn’t push him away. Should be annoyed—but there’s something about Joshua’s warmth, the way his teasing never feels forced, that disarms her.
His presence is a comforting contrast to the cold, clinical atmosphere of the office.
Kath shifts, subtly angling her body to block the screen—but too late. Joshua’s gaze flickers to the monitor, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Serious stuff?" he asks, his voice dropping a notch. Less teasing. More curious.
“Just work," she says—too quickly. Her fingers tighten around the edge of her desk, betraying her tension.
Joshua watches her for a beat—just long enough to make her stomach tighten. Katherine feels exposed under that gaze, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t expected, wondering if he’s seen more than she meant to show.
The silence stretches, thick with unasked questions. His eyes stay on hers, steady and searching, probing for the hairline fractures in her composure.
Then, suddenly—he leans back. A casual stretch, muscles shifting beneath his shirt as the tension melts into something looser. Different. Almost teasing.
“Alright, alright. No work talk," he concedes, the grin sliding back into place. “But if you don’t leave this office soon, I’m personally dragging you out." His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of concern in his words.
He shifts his weight, reaching into his coat pocket with a casual motion and pulling out two pieces of candy wrapped in bright foil.
“Barista gave me these when I grabbed coffee earlier,” he says, holding them up like a peace offering. “Apparently it’s some kind of ‘thank you for not screaming in the line’ reward system.”
He glances at her with a grin. “So, Winters—raspberry or strawberry?”
She blinks, momentarily disarmed by the absurd normalcy of the question.
“Raspberry,” she says after a beat.
He tosses her the candy, and she catches it, barely.
The foil crinkles in her palm. It’s a ridiculous little gesture, meaningless and soft, and for some reason it hits harder than anything else tonight.
She exhales, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she finally closes her laptop. The click of the lid echoes in the quiet office, signaling the end of another grueling day. Joshua tilts his head toward the door, a playful glint in his eyes.
"Shall we?" he teases, voice dipping into a low rumble.
"The city's still standing—for now. But who knows how long it'll survive without your supervision?"
Katherine chuckles, a sound that rises low from her chest and slips through slightly parted lips.
She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Despite the jest, there’s a warmth in Joshua’s words that seeps in, loosening something tight in her shoulders.
She stands without a word and moves to follow him.
Outside, the air is crisp—cool against her skin, charged with the low thrum of the city. The weight of deadlines, of Benjamin’s razor-edged critiques, seems to fall away with each step. Every stride is a quiet rebellion, a breath of something freer.
Joshua walks a half-step ahead, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders relaxed. A group of teenagers pass them on scooters, laughing too loud; a dog barks from a balcony above.
They pause at a crosswalk, waiting for the signal. Neither of them speaks. Katherine watches the traffic roll by—headlights streaking like echoes of other people’s lives.
Joshua glances sideways, then raises one hand to point at a dimly lit billboard across the street. “Is that supposed to be a flamingo?” he asks, frowning.
She squints, and for a moment, something light flickers behind her eyes. “Looks like a shrimp with issues.”
He laughs, low and easy, and it pulls her into the moment like a tide.
For once, she’s not thinking. Not calculating. Just walking. Breathing.
The signal changes. They step forward together.
For now, she lets herself drift in Joshua’s orbit, his presence easy, grounding. The streets blur past, distant and golden.
But even in that calm, a colder gaze hovers at the edge of her mind—sharp, deliberate, impossible to shake.
◆◆◆
The café hums with quiet conversation, the clink of porcelain, the rich scent of roasted coffee curling in the air. Warm. Comforting. A stark contrast to the cold truths Kath has been unearthing.
She stirs her coffee absentmindedly, watching the swirling patterns in the cup. Thinking too hard. Again.
Tammy leans in, her sharp gaze scanning Kath’s expression. Always knowing too much. “You’re unusually quiet,” Tammy muses, lips twitching. “That’s either a sign of exhaustion or you’re thinking too hard again."
Katherine exhales, her gaze still fixed on the coffee. “Can’t it be both?" Dry. Unbothered. But the weight in her voice betrays her.
Silence lingers between them, thick with unspoken things.
Then Katherine exhales. Decides to be honest.
"I've been looking into my father's case," she admits.
The words feel heavier than they should.
"And… I think something's off."
Tammy goes still, watching carefully.
"Go on."
Kath hesitates. Just for a second. Then—
"The prosecution. The evidence. It felt too clean. Like a set up."
Tammy's expression shifts—something sharper flickering behind her eyes.
"Who was the prosecutor?"
Her fingers tighten slightly around the cup. She shouldn't say it. But she does.
"Crawford." The name tastes like iron.
Tammy freezes. The smile vanishes so fast it leaves an echo. She blinks. Once. Slowly. Then: “Wait. Crawford, Crawford? Like Samuel Crawford? " Her voice is quiet now. Tense.
Like the name itself is a weapon.
Katherine nods once. The motion feels like glass in her throat.
Tammy exhales sharply, a sound like splintering ice, shaking her head. Not in disbelief. In warning. Her blue eyes have gone dark, haunted by something Kath can't name.
"Listen to me." Tammy’s voice drops to barely above a whisper, each word weighted with urgency. "That man doesn’t lose. And people who ask the wrong questions about him?
They don’t get answers. They get problems."
Katherine’s spine straightens, tension coiling between her shoulders. The cafe suddenly feels too warm, too exposed.
"What kind of problems?"
Tammy's gaze darts around the room, cataloging exits, checking shadows.
"Two lawyers tried to challenge one of his cases a few years back." The pause stretches like a wound. "One of them? Changed his name. Moved states. The other?"
A beat of silence—thick enough to choke on.
“No one’s seen him since.”
Katherine’s fingers whiten around the coffee cup. The drink is cold now. Her blood? Colder.
She doesn’t speak right away. Her gaze drifts back to the slow swirl inside the mug, as if searching for answers in the spiraling sediment.
The weight of it all tugs at her features—thoughts folding inward like smoke, silent and suffocating.
Tammy watches her for a beat, then tilts her head, mouth quirking into a lopsided smile. Her voice is light, teasing—but there’s something gentler under the surface. “Careful, Winters. That brooding thing? You’re starting to worry me.”
Tammy’s eyes sparkle, but the sharpness has softened—more curiosity now than provocation. A kind of alertness that says she’s paying attention.
“Okay, something else is on your mind,” Tammy declares, her voice edged with amusement. “Spill it."
Kath considers dodging. Lying. Then sighs.
"Fine," she mutters, stirring her coffee too hard, watching the liquid whirl like her thoughts. “You remember that private dance client I told you about?"
Tammy’s eyes instantly light up.
“Oh, hell yes." Tammy leans in, grinning. "The one who crushed some poor bastard in a bidding war just to see you?"
Katherine exhales through her nose. Flat. Dry. Unamused.
“Yeah. That one."
Tammy smirks, clearly enjoying this. “What about him? "