Page 23 of Stolen Vows

And just like that, the call ends. No time for a goodbye. No space for me to say anything else.

Romeo stretches beside me, letting out a deep, exaggerated groan.

I huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, buddy. Same.”

I set my phone aside and grab my Kindle, curling deeper into the blankets.

The song changes, the slow strum of a familiar melody filling the loft. I exhale, the tension in my chest easing, but not fully gone. Because even though Florence’s words still linger, tugging at something deep inside me, the quiet around me feels like possibility.

Like maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something real.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

6

GRAHAM

present day

The scentof fresh espresso and burnt sugar wraps around me as I step inside the coffee shop. Same place. Same routine. The barista doesn’t even ask for my name. Just pours my coffee, hands it over, moves on.

I like it that way. No small talk. No forced conversation. Just hot coffee, a quiet corner, and a chance to clear my head before I get back to work.

Some days, I need a midday break from staring at my screens, swimming in miles of code and broken programming. So I walk the couple of miles into downtown, grab some lunch or a coffee.

A necessary reset. If I’m not careful, I’ll lose twelve hours inside my office.

I take my usual seat by the window, the hum of the espresso machine and the quiet murmur of conversation a comforting backdrop. Outside, Main Street moves at its usual pace.

Same faces. Same storefronts. Same slice of life. Society tries to tell everyone they should hate that. That they should always strive for something bigger, better, faster—more.

But it’s all bullshit.

I mean, sure, dreams are important. Working on your craft? Necessary. But when you achieve those things, when you reach your goals, it’s okay to enjoy it, too. To allow yourself to be content. To sit in your local coffee shop and enjoy a dark roast.

I take a slow sip, letting the warmth settle, but my mind drifts. The familiar hum of the coffee shop fades into the background as my thoughts pull me elsewhere.

I’ve been in this exact spot hundreds of times over the last five years. And every once in a while—when I’m overtired, when my brain is running on too little sleep and too much caffeine—I’ll catch a glimpse of blonde out of the corner of my eye.

Just for a second. Just long enough for something in my chest to go tight. And in that second, before logic catches up—I think it’sher.

It never is.

I know it’s not healthy. I know it’s notnormal. But at some point, it just became part of my routine.

Get out of bed. Make coffee. Check the alerts I set up. Drink a protein shake. Go to the gym. Check the alerts. Work. Check the fucking alerts.

Because what if today was different? What if the system picked up something new? What if I finally had a lead?

The fact that I never did should have been enough to make me stop.

It wasn’t.

Not all of the alerts are for her. Some are for clients. Some for passion projects. But she’s always on the list.

A name buried among breach reports, flagged anomalies, and data trails. A ghost in the machine. Forever just out of reach.

At least one good thing came out of all of this. Mycuriosityforced me to make dozens of modifications and system upgrades for Sentinel and Oracle. Better automation. Smarter search capabilities. The systems can see deeper, scan wider, pull connections faster.

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