Page 46 of Protect Thy Enemy

My brain keeps going back to what Gran said. Back to whoever this Leo person is.He has to be my dad.

“What’s with you today?”

I bristle at his accusatory tone. “Nothing, I’m fine.” The words come out more defensive than I intend.

Grant steps closer, the tension between us crackling like static in the air. “If you’re fine,” he says, his voice colder now, “why is it so hard for you to focus?”

I feel the sting of his words, like he has a direct line into my scattered thoughts and is able to confirm exactly that. “I’m focused.”

Grant isn’t convinced, his eyes narrowing with scrutiny. “You’ve been off. A lot lately. You’re distracted.”

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him he doesn’t know what’s going on inside my head, but I bite my tongue. Instead, I meet his eyes, refusing to back down.

“I said that I’m fine. I never took you for the micromanaging type, Agent Grant,” I snap, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

He doesn’t flinch or even blink. He just steps in closer, the intensity of his stare making my heart race. “You better watch that tone, Rookie. I just hope you can put your money where that smart-ass mouth is.”

The words land between us, heavier than anything I’ve said before. I realize at that moment that it’s not just about proving I can do this job. It’s about proving that I’m more than just talk.

But I’m not sure where to start.

As I walk away, I can feel Grant’s eyes on me, but I don’t look back. The tension is suffocating, and I can’t shake the weight of his challenge. Because he’s right. I’m distracted, but I don’t know how to pull myself out of it.

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. I have no answers. No direction. Just the same uncertainty I’ve been carrying for years.

Where do I even start looking for the truth about Leo?

I don’t know. And that, more than anything, leaves me unsettled.

***

The training room smells faintly of cleaning solution and sweat, an oddly comforting combination.

I savor it while adjusting the strap on my vest. Agent Hard-ass is already here, of course, leaning against the wall with his usual air of cold detachment.

His sharp eyes snap to me the second I enter, assessing.

“Williams,” he says, his voice steady but biting, like it’s a nuisance just to say my name.

One day, I’m going to break that cold exterior. Maybe even pull a smile out of the Grinch who terrorizes the White House.

“Grant,” I reply, my tone deliberately even as I meet his gaze head-on.

“Focused enough not to waste my time?” The question is wrapped tightly into an intricate warning. But his voice is quieter now, like he’s worried?

Nope, I’m definitely imagining it.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Like the brute he is, he answers with a grunt, so I take that as clearance to start. I choose a simpler simulation, one I’ve cleared many times before and should have no issues with.

It’s going well until Grant’s hand shoots out, stopping me mid-step. His touch isn’t rough, but I can’t think past the heat that radiates from the spot. I freeze, glancing at him.

“Look again,” he says, his tone low and controlled.

My eyes dart around the room. It’s clear. Or so I thought until I notice the faint line of wire stretching across the doorway. My stomach twists.How did I miss that?I’ve run this simulation more times than I’d like to admit.

I should’ve seen it.

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