Page 44 of Protect Thy Enemy

But that’s not how things work around here. No, you wait long enough, and someone slips. They always do.

“You got time for a sparring session?” I ask, more out of routine than actual hope. I could use the distraction, something to knock out this simmering frustration before it boils over.

Tate glances at me, and for a second, I see the hesitation before he speaks. “Not today, man. I have to take Nonna to dialysis.”

Right. His grandmother. She’s been sick for as long as I’ve known him, always something with her kidneys, in and out of hospitals. He doesn’t talk about it much. He’s never one for sharing anything too deep or too serious. But I know it weighs on him more than he lets on.

I give a short nod, respectful. “How’s she holding up?” It’s not much, but it’s enough to let him know I’m asking without prying. Tate’s the kind of guy who’ll give you a piece of himself when he’s ready.

“Same,” he says, his voice low, that familiar strain beneath the surface. “Some days are better than others.” He shrugs, trying to play it off, but the tightness in his jaw gives him away.

“Let me know if you need anything,” I offer. It’s the kind of thing you say, but with Tate, I mean it.

He gives me a sideways glance, and for a split second, his guard drops. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

We reach the corner of the West Wing where my desk is located, and Tate’s already pulling out his keys, ready to head out.

“Don’t stay here too late, Grant,” he says with a nod before turning and making his way down the hall.

I watch him go for a moment before heading to my desk. My head’s still buzzing with what just went down in Harris’soffice, the lingering tension gnawing at me, refusing to let go. I drop into my chair and pull up my laptop. Against my better judgment, I type in the code name:Nightwalker.

The screen flashes, and a list of files pops up. Most of them are restricted, locked behind layers of clearance I don’t have access to. I scroll, narrowing my search, until one file catches my eye. A classified document sealed tight above my pay grade.

Interesting.

I stare at the screen for a moment. Coincidence? I don’t believe in them. Not here. Not in this line of work.

I lean back in my chair, the gears in my mind turning. I already know who I need to call to get answers.

This time, I’m not waiting for Harris to slip up.

Chapter Fifteen

Arden

The antiseptic smell hits me the moment I step through the front doors of Rosewood Pines. It’s so strong it makes my stomach turn, but I push through it, clutching the bag of lavender lotion Gran likes as I walk toward room 312.

My heels click against the linoleum floor in a steady rhythm, almost drowning out the faint sounds of laughter and old television reruns coming from the residents’ rooms. This is where my money goes every month. On extra nurses and private care Gran barely notices.

I could hear Luna’s voice now if she knew.You’re saving someone who doesn’t even know you exist.

It’s not for her. Not really. It’s for me, the girl who made a promise she didn’t understand, and the adult clinging to pieces of a family she never knew.

I knock softly before entering.

Gran sits in her usual spot by the window, her silver hair glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Her eyes are distant, fixed on something far outside my view. “Hi, Gran,” I say, my voice low.

Her head turns, and for a moment, there’s a spark of recognition in her eyes. But it’s not for me. “Annie! You’ve come.”

The familiar pang hits me, sharp as ever, but I keep my smile steady. “Of course I did,” I say, settling into the chair beside her.

Gran reaches out, her hands trembling as they wrap around mine. “You always were a good girl. It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

I swallow past the guilt and place my hand over hers. “I know, I’m sorry I’ve been busy with work.”

It’s partially the truth. The last time I visited Gran took a lot out of me. The look in her eyes when I tried to explain that I wasn’t Annie but her granddaughter still haunts my brain.

I’ve never felt so… invisible. Two people I shared blood with wanted nothing to do with me. But I know it isn’t Gran’s fault. It’s the dementia.

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