Page 41 of Omega's Fire

“I would never—” I begin, indignation flaring.

“Wouldn’t you?” Halvorsen cuts me off. “You’re wearing a t-shirt that still carries his scent. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Heat rises to my face.

“I’m more than capable of maintaining professional boundaries,” I say stiffly. “I’ve left him alone for two months, haven’t I? Haven’t called, texted, or shown up at his door despite knowing exactly where he lives.”

Halvorsen studies me for a long moment, skepticism evident in his expression, then he nods. “Good. I want you have the opportunity to see him, Nash but I’m taking a risk here. My reputation is on the line if this goes sideways.”

“It won’t,” I promise.

“The position starts whenever you’re ready,” he says finally. “Get your act together.” He looks around, grimacing. He finishes his coffee and stands. “I’ll tell the Department you’ve accepted the position. They’ll want to meet with you next week to formalize everything.”

I walk him to the door, feeling almost human again.

“Nash,” Halvorsen says, pausing in the doorway. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t,” I say, meeting his gaze steadily.

As soon as he’s gone, I move to my laptop. I bypass the Bureau database with its still-pending match status and pull up the university’s website instead.

Academic calendar. Faculty directory. Campus map. Leo’s class schedule wouldn’t be public, but the law school’s general timetable is. Their library hours. The coffee shop they favor.

I’m not stalking. I’m... preparing. Researching. What I dobest.

And if I happen to cross paths with Leo Torres... well, what could be more natural than a professor and student encountering each other on campus?

I close the computer and look around my disaster of an apartment with fresh eyes. Suddenly the chaos is unacceptable. I begin gathering empty containers, discarded clothes, forgotten coffee mugs. I strip the sheets from my bed, I need fresh bedding.

Hours later, the apartment resembles its former self. I stand in the shower again, this time with purpose rather than mindless routine.

When I emerge, I catch my reflection in the mirror. Still hollow-eyed, still bearing the marks of these painful weeks, but... there is a flicker of hope.

I dress in actual clothes—jeans, a button-down—and order proper groceries for delivery. While waiting, I move to my desk where Leo’s binder still sits—the one he left behind at our Bureau meeting all those months ago.

I run my fingers over the worn leather, imagining his hands holding it. Instead of returning the binder to its place in my desk drawer, I place it on top. I’ve been meaning to return this to you.

As I turn away, my phone buzzes with a notification from the Bureau database: Reminder: Match Status Torres, L. / Thorndike, M. remains under review. Click here to acknowledge rejection.

I dismiss the notification without clicking. The system will keep our match open for a year. And now, I’ll be on the same campus as Leo. Not pursuing him. Not forcing anything. Just… existing in proximity. Available.

It’s not much of a plan. But it’s a start.

Leo

The bus lurches around a corner, and I grip the edge of the seat to steady myself. My back aches from standing all day at the law firm. I should be in heaven. This is exactly the kind of experience I’ve dreamed of. It’s exactly where I wanted to be a year ago, but all I can focus on is the manila folder in my lap and the life growing inside me.

“Next stop, Meridian Avenue,” the automated voice announces.

God, I’m tired. Pregnancy hormones are wreaking absolute havoc on my body. One minute I’m fine, the next I’m ready to collapse. I rub my eyes and grip the folder tighter, resisting the urge to open it and read the paperwork for the thousandth time. I’ve spent weeks drafting it and I’ve tweaked it more times than I can count. I can’t afford any mistakes, not when it comes to protecting my child.

My child. Our child. Sometimes I still can’t believe this is real.

The bus stops with a jerk, and I nearly drop my folder. A woman across the aisle gives me a sympathetic look as I fumble to collect my scattered papers. Her eyes flick to my midsection, and I instinctively tug my loose sweater forward, though I know the slight curve of my stomach is becoming more obvious each day.

It’s been three months since I found out about the pregnancy. I’ve kept it secret from everyone, even Meg.

Normally, I’d have Meg or Jules review something this important. They’re both brilliant. Or I could ask one of the senior associates at Brennan & Wallace. But that would mean telling them about the pregnancy, and I’m not ready for that conversation. Not yet.

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