Page 35 of Protect Thy Enemy

I linger a few feet away, scanning the sea of designer gowns and tailored suits. I keep my focus narrowed as I remind myself of the basics: stay alert, anticipate, and blend in.

Agent Park sidles up beside me, his posture casual, but his gaze is sharp. “Holding it together pretty well today,” he says quietly, his tone low enough to blend into the background noise.

“Trying to,” I reply, trying to mask my irritation by keeping my voice neutral. “Grant hasn’t yelled at me yet, so that’s a win.”

Park’s lips twitch, and it’s still the closest thing I’ve gotten to a real human emotion outside of his trademark smirk. “He’s always watching, but don’t take it personally. He’s like that with everyone.”

“Feels different,” I mutter, though I’m not sure why I’m admitting it to him.

His expression shifts, growing to that hard exterior as he looks at me more carefully. “He sees potential, Williams. That’s why he’s hard on you.”

Yeah, potential to burn the place down, perhaps.

Before I can respond, a figure near the far wall catches my attention. A man in a gray suit and red tie stands rigid as his gaze darts around the room like he’s cataloging exits.

My instincts stir, a familiar twist in my gut telling me something is off.

“Gray suit, red tie,” I say quietly, my eyes fixed on him.

Park follows my line of sight. “Could just be nerves. Not everyone’s used to events like this.”

“Or he’s hiding something,” I counter, already tapping my comm.

“Grant,” I murmur. “Possible suspect. Gray suit, red tie, near the back wall. Acting suspicious.”

“Hold position.” Grant’s voice comes through, sharp and unyielding. “Do not engage.”

My jaw tightens. “I think he’s concealing something.”

“Williams.” His tone drops, cold and final. “Stand down. That’s an order.”

But the feeling won’t go away. The man shifts, and I catch a glimpse of something metallic in his hand. It's small, but I could spot it from here. My logic fights with adrenaline. The feeling in my gut tells me to intervene, but logic tells me to listen to my chain of command.

Adrenaline wins out, drowning Grant’s and my logic.

God, I hope I’m not wrong.

“Park, cover me,” I say, already moving.

“Williams, don’t—” Park hisses, but it’s too late. I’m already threading my way through the crowd.

The man’s eyes lock on mine, panic flashing across his face before he bolts toward a side door.

“Suspect fleeing,” I call into my comm, picking up my pace.

“Goddammit, Williams!” Grant snaps through the earpiece, but it only fuels my determination.

The man barrels down a corridor, knocking over a tray of glasses in his escape. I leap over the mess, gaining on him as he rounds a corner. He’s fast, but I’m faster.

I lunge, grabbing the back of his jacket and dragging him to the ground.

He thrashes, his hand darting toward his pocket, but I pin him down, wrenching the object from his grip.

A detonator.

My stomach drops, the weight of what could’ve been hitting me like a freight train.

Footsteps thunder behind me, and before I can catch my breath, Grant is there, his looming presence furious.

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