It’s gotten easier. Since that day on the balcony, three weeks ago, I’ve spent a lot of time doing some self-reflecting. In that time, I’ve tried to get a sense of normalcy back, despite the occasional nightmares. Even so, instead of trying to bury my trauma or numb it out in the most detrimental of ways, I took up baking, reading, working out, and occasionally slipping into the lab to work with the engineers. It’s a strange thing, to be helping others with the skills that have caused so much destruction, yet all at once, it’s fascinating. I’m now more than ever intrigued by the world of engineering, and I’m starting to think I chose the wrong field to study. This is so much cooler. “Alright,” I breathe out as I set down the tablet on the lab table, glancing up at Ben and Pablo. “I should probably get going.” Pablo nods half-heartedly, his gaze fixated on the circuit board in front of him as he carefully shifts the wires on it. “Alway

Sam’s expression doesn’t waver, his gaze steady as he leans back in his chair. “I told you, Mrs. Saldívar. Your husband sent me.” I shake my head, my heart racing. “No. No, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you want me to tell them everything? Isn’t that the opposite of what you’re supposed to do?” A small smirk plays at the corner of Sam’s mouth. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. With a few taps, he slides it across the table to me. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” I stare at the phone for a moment, hesitating. Then, with a shaky hand, I pick it up, bringing it to my ear. “H-hello?” “Mercy.” Marcel’s deep and familiar voice resonates through the small speaker, washing over me. “Are you okay?” At the sound of his voice, something inside me breaks. “No!” I cry, the tears I’ve been holding back finally spilling over. “No, I’m not okay! Marcel, they have Levi. They’re saying they’ll put him away. And they

The warm glow of the twinkle lights casts a soft ambiance over my study—the room Marcel had set up just for me 8 months ago. It’s a cozy haven where I can lose myself in my studies and find a moment’s peace. The beige couch and chaise are welcoming, the pastel yellow rug at the center of the room adding a touch of warmth beneath the wooden coffee table. My favorite books line the shelves on the wall, tying the room together perfectly. I’ve been here for hours, pouring over textbooks and assignments, trying to distract myself from the lingering tension of yesterday’s confrontation with Marcel. But even as I sit at the small desk, the warm light of the study lamp illuminating the keyboard of my laptop, I can’t seem to focus. Maybe I should just call it a day. With a sigh, I close my laptop, the weight of mental exhaustion settling over me. I push back from the desk, my swivel chair squeaking softly as I stand and stretch my tired muscles. The gentle mu

I stare at Marcel, my heart pounding in my chest as I fight the overwhelming urge to give in, to go back to him and lose myself in his touch, in his kisses. The desire to be with him, to feel his skin against mine, is almost too much to bear. But I stand my ground, knowing we can’t keep avoiding the issues that keep pushing me away from him. After a long moment, he senses my resolve, his features hardening to a stern look as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze intent on me. “Alright, doll,” he says softly, his voice low and earnest. “Let’s talk.” I eye him for a moment, steeling myself before I finally begin. “Yesterday, with the ATF… I wasn’t trying to be brave or noble just for the sake of it. I was just… I was terrified, and so I figured if I didn’t completely fold within the first five seconds I wouldn’t seem so…weak.” His gaze sharpens, his brow furrowing with concern. “You’re not weak, Mercy. You were scared, rightfully. But terr

I lean back in my chair, my eyes fixed on the laptop screen as my fingers fly over the keyboard. The words flow effortlessly, the ideas for my dissertation project taking shape with each passing minute. I’m so engrossed in my work that I almost don’t hear the knock on the door. “Come in!” I call out, my gaze still glued to the screen. The door opens, and I glance up to see Frank standing in the doorway, his expression as stoic as ever. “Ma’am,” he greets me with a nod. “Marcel wants to see you in the conference room.” I tilt my head, curious. It’s not often that Marcel summons me anywhere, especially to the conference room, and certainly not in the middle of the day like this. “Did he say why?” I ask, already making sure my document has auto-saved and closing the laptop. Frank shakes his head. “No, ma’am. Just that he needs you there.” Intrigued, I follow him out of my study and through the halls, my mind racing w