Page 119 of Knight

Michael shifts beside me, his presence solid and grounding in a way I didn’t know I needed. For the first time in days, he’s here—reallyhere. Safe. Whole. It should be enough to ease the ache in my chest, but it doesn’t. Because even though I have him back, I lost something else in the process.

“He’s always been like this.” Bishop breaks the silence, his tone rough and matter-of-fact. His grip on the steering wheel is steady, controlled. “Pushing away anything that might make him vulnerable.”

"Is that supposed to make it better?" My voice is brittle. "That he's done this before?"

“No. But …thisisn’t something he’s done before. No one has ever got close enough for him to need to. He never lowers his barriers enough to let someone in. You’re the first.”

His words knock the breath out of me, but understanding isn’t the comfort it should be. It doesn’t fill the void inside me, or erase the harsh blankness of Knight’s face when he told me to leave. Understanding doesn’t change the fact that he ripped my world apart with the same skills he uses to break through code.

The traffic builds as we hit the main roads. Cars inch forward, their passengers oblivious to the way my world has broken and shifted. The sunlight feels wrong on my skin—too bright, too warm, too alive for the darkness trying to pull me under.

"I'll need to check your apartment before you go in." Bishop's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "A surveillance check, so I can make sure no one is watching it."

"You really think that's necessary?" Michael leans forward between the seats. "Knight said the organization was destroyed once Sullivan was taken down."

“In our world, paranoia keeps you alive.” Bishop doesn’t glance back. “It’s better to check than be sorry. There’s always someone waiting to replace the head of the beast.”

Our world. Their world.

The line between them has blurred now, bleeding together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. A week ago, I wouldn’t have understood the need for security sweeps. Now, I can’t imagine living without them.

The streets of my neighborhood seem foreign as we drive through it. Everything looks like it should. The brick facades, overgrown planters, the old woman walking her dog, but it’s all wrong. A little like staring at a photograph of something you used to know and discovering that the scene it’s frozen in time is not quite how you remember it.

Bishop parks in front of my building.

“Stay here.” He exits the SUV, and scans the street before disappearing inside.

The silence left behind is deafening. Michael’s hand finds my hand, and squeezes gently.

“We don’t have to stay here. We could go somewhere else. Anywhere. Start over.”

I shake my head, my gaze locked on the old woman and her dog as they shuffle down the sidewalk. “Running won’t change what happened. It won’t make me forget him.”

Michael sighs, but before he can respond, Bishop reappears.

“The building is clear.” He opens the back passenger door, and steps back so we can climb out. “No signs of surveillance or interference. But we should get inside before you draw attention.”

The walk to my apartment takes forever. My key turns in the lock, but the action feels wrong, like it belongs to someone else. Inside, nothing has changed. Books fill my shelves, arranged in perfect order. Dishes sit in the drying rack where I left them.

It’s all too familiar, too untouched, too much a reflection of a life I don’t think I can ever return to.

I've changed too much. The woman who lived here, who trusted strangers online, who believed in simple answers … she died somewhere between walking into Knight's apartment and walking out of it.

Bishop moves through the apartment like a predator, checking windows and angles I never would have considered. His presence should feel invasive, but it doesn’t. It’s almost comfortable, reassuring. Another reminder of how much my world has shifted.

"The windows are vulnerable." He returns to the living room. "You should consider reinforced glass, better locks. I can have someone install them for you."

"I'll think about it." But we both know I won't. Upgraded security means accepting this new reality as permanent. It will mean admitting that I'm not going back to who I was before.

Michael disappears into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. The sound of him searching for food should be comforting, instead it grates against my nerves. The normalcy of it seems like a mockery of everything I’ve lost.

Bishop places something on the coffee table. A phone. Sleek, black, unfamiliar.

“Encrypted. Untraceable. For emergencies only.”

I stare at it, my stomach twisting. “Knight doesn’t know about this, does he?”

“No.” Bishop’s tone softens, just enough to catch me off guard. “And he won’t. Unless you use it. It’s programmed to alert him. We all have one. In case we …” One corner of his mouth tips up. “Well, you know why.”

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