Page 129 of Knight

And now two days of nothing. Well, notnothing.

Two days of silence. Two days ofnotwatching Eva through my network of cameras. Two days of staring at blank screens like they might magically make this situation I’ve caused less messy.

"This is pathetic," I tell the empty room. "Even for you."

The room doesn’t answer. Which is probably for the best. Talking to myself is already concerning enough without getting responses.

My office chair creaks as I spin slowly, studying the space that used to feel like a sanctuary. Now it just feels exactly like what it is. A cage I built for myself. An observation deck where I pretend monitoring feeds equals actual human connection.

"Well, this is going brilliantly." My sarcasm bounces off the walls. "Really excelling at the whole personal growth thing, Knight."

The cursor blinks on my main screen, tempting me with its steady rhythm. One keystroke, and I could check the feeds. See where she is. What she’s doing. Make sure she’s safe.

Keep pretending I have any control over this fucking situation.

"Because that worked so well last time." I push away from the desk. "How about we try something that doesn’t involve hiding behind a screen for a change?"

My still-healing wounds twinge as I stand. A nice reminder that all the control I surround myself with is bullshit anyway.

All my security, all my firewalls, none of it has protected anything that actually matters.

It just kept Eva at arm’s length while I pretended watching through cameras was enough.

Enough for what?

But I know the answer to that. The problem is that admitting it feels like crossing some unspoken line I’ve been tiptoeing around for years.

If what I’ve built isn’t enough, then what the hell am I doing here?

"Fuck it."

I grab my keys before I can talk myself out of this monumentally stupid fucking idea. But when I reach the elevator, I hesitate.

Go back. Stay where it’s safe, where mistakes don’t exist in real time.

I tap the code into the keypad anyway. The doors slide open, I step in, and stare at the numbers as they light up. Each floor passed is another chance to turn around. But the doors open onto the lobby before I can change my mind, and I step out. By the time I’m in my car, the doubt is practically screaming at me to turn back.

Driving doesn’t help. Every stop light turns red. It feels like an accusation, a warning. Each turn turns into a question I can’t answer. My grip on the steering wheel tightens, as if holding onharder will steady the turmoil in my head. I’m not even sure what I’m planning to say when I see her.

Sorry?It’s a start, but it won’t be enough. Willanythingbe enough?

Her building comes into view, familiar from countless hours of watching it through security cameras, but jarringly real now. It looks different when you’re not viewing it through a security feed. More immediate. More daunting than any system I’ve ever breached.

I park, and sit there for ten minutes, staring at the entrance, while I debate whether I’m about to ruin everything.

Again.

The lock on the main door is a joke that takes about three seconds to pick. Something I’d normally mock, except right now I’m too busy fighting the urge to turn around and run away.

"You’ve really lost it now." I start up the stairs. "Corporate servers? No problem. Actually talking to someone? Complete system fucking failure."

Three flights give me plenty of time to list all the reasons why this is going to be a spectacular mistake. The fourth adds every way it will blow up in my face. Walking along the hallway to her door reminds me of why I don’t do emotional connections.

Eva’s door looks exactly like it did through my cameras. Why wouldn’t it? It’s the kind of flimsy security that makes me physically twitch. The urge to lecture her about proper protection wars with the knowledge that it’s the kind of deflection she called me out for.

"This should go great." I raise my hand. "Nothing says ‘I’m sorry’quite like showing up uninvited at someone’s door."

My knuckles hover over the surface.

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