Page 4 of Protect Thy Enemy

“I know, I know. You’ve worn it at every weirdly specific life event, got it,” she interrupts, holding up a hand. “You look like a madwoman, you know that?”

“Maybe.” I cross my arms. “But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand it over.”

Luna leans back, smirking, and slowly raises a single eyebrow. “What’s it worth to you?”

“You’re the worst.”

She bursts out laughing, reaching behind her to pull the missing bra out from under a couch cushion. “Relax. It’s all yours,Agent Superstitious.”

I snatch it out of her hands, glaring, but I can’t stay mad. Luna has that effect. Her quick wit and effortless charm make it hard to hold a grudge.

“Thanks,” I grumble, slipping the bra on under my shirt.

As I slip into my blazer, I catch sight of Luna, her laptop balanced precariously on her knees. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s always been like that—completely at ease, even when the world feels like it’s caving in around her.

I’ve lived with her most of my life, but it never feels like enough time. She isn’t just my roommate. She’s my family. The one who’s always been there, steady as a heartbeat.

Luna didn’t have to let me stay back then. She didn’t have to share her parents, her home, or her life, but she did. And somehow, she made me feel like I belonged there and wasn’t just some kid they took in out of pity.

She’s been beside me every step of the way, reminding me who I am when I start to forget. And now, as I’m about to walk out that door to start a job I’m still not sure I deserve, her presence feels like the only thing keeping me grounded.

“Break a leg today,” she calls out as I dart back to my room to grab my heels. “And try not to trip over your own feet while you’re at it.”

I roll my eyes. “Noted.”

***

People love to talk about fresh starts like they’re some kind of gift. A reset. A chance to do things right this time.

But in my experience, a fresh start just means pretending the past doesn’t follow you through the door. It always does.

And today? Today’s no different.

I adjust my blazer again and step through the towering glass doors of headquarters. It’s all steel, silence, and too many reflective surfaces.

Inside, the air is cold and smells faintly of new furniture and nerves.

Mine included.

The click of my heels echoes across the marble floor, each step louder than it needs to be.

The woman at the front desk doesn’t bother looking up when I approach her. “Agent Arden Williams?”

“That’s me.”

“Conference Room A. Fifth floor.” She doesn’t point, doesn’t glance. Just goes back to typing, proving that customer service is truly a dying art.

I don’t expect red carpet treatment, but damn. A little human interaction wouldn’t kill her.

I head to the elevator and squeeze in beside a crowd of people in suits who all seem to know exactly where they’re going. I don’t. But that’s fine. I’ve never needed directions to figure out where I don’t belong.

The ride up is quiet, pressing into my skin like an itch I can’t reach. By the time I step off on the fifth floor, my nerves have cooled into something else entirely.

Focus. That’s what this takes. Not nerves. Not doubt. Just focus.

The conference room is massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a table long enough to host a summit. Sunlight pours in from each side, bouncing off every surface like it’s trying to blind me on purpose.

I barely have time to take it all in before the door opens behind me.

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