The kettle whistled softly in the background. Debra stood by the window, watching the clouds roll in-low, heavy, the kind that made the city feel smaller. Lean was folding her clothes into a weekend bag, each movement careful, reluctant.
"I hate this part," Debra said, not turning around.
"I know," Lean replied, zipping the bag closed. "Me too."
Tech Haven had called that morning. A systems breach. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to pull Lean back into the pulse of her other life-servers, code, deadlines. The world they'd both tried to forget for a day.
Debra turned, arms crossed loosely. "How long?"
"Three days. Maybe four. You know how coding is like..."
Debra nodded, lips pressed together. "Okay."
Lean crossed the room, wrapped her arms around Debra from behind. "You can still call me. Even if I'm buried in firewalls."
"I know," Debra whispered. "It's not that."
"What is it?"
Debra leaned back into her. "It's just… I liked pretending. That nothing else existed. That it was just us and pancakes and bad French movies."
Lean kissed the side of her neck. "We'll get back to that. I promise." she said with a little smile... She liked the pretence too...
But Debra didn't answer. Because she knew-once the world started knocking again, it rarely stopped.
After Lean left, the studio felt too quiet. Debra sat on the couch, sketchbook in her lap, pencil unmoving.
Her phone buzzed.
It was a message from her father.
"We need to talk. Something's come up. It's urgent."
She stared at the screen. The warmth of the past day still clung to her skin, but it was fading fast.
She closed the sketchbook, stood slowly, and reached for her coat.
The world was waiting.
And this time, it wasn't going to be gentle.
...
The drive to her parents' house was quiet. No music. Just the low hum of the engine and the occasional whisper of tires over wet asphalt. Debra kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh, fingers tapping a rhythm she didn't recognize.
When she arrived, the front door was already ajar.
Her father Mr Harrison stood in the hallway, phone in hand, face drawn. He looked up as she stepped inside.
"Thanks for coming," he said. "It's worse than we thought."
She followed him into the study. Her mother was there too, arms crossed, eyes sharp. On the desk: a printed email chain, a flash drive, and a single sheet of paper with a name circled in red ink.
Debra leaned in. "What am I looking at?"
Her father exhaled. "The whistleblower? She's gone silent. And someone tried to access our internal servers last night. IT flagged it. The login attempt used Mr Aries but from an external IP."
Debra's stomach tightened. "He's covering his tracks."
"Or accelerating something," her mother added. "We don't know what he's planning. But we can't wait anymore."
Her father looked at her. "We need to confront him. Carefully. With a witness. And we need you to stay out of it from here."
"No," Debra said, voice calm but firm. "I'm already in it. And I know how he talks. How he twists things. You'll need someone who's seen both sides."
Her mother hesitated. "Debra…"
"I'm not saying I'll lead the charge. But I'm not stepping back either."
There was a long pause. Then her father nodded. "Alright. We do this together."
When she got home..., Debra sat in her studio again, the lights low, the city humming beyond the windows. She stared at her phone, thumb hovering over the contact.
Her ex girlfriend father's name blinked back at her.
She pressed call.
It rang once. Twice.
Then: "Debra. I was wondering when you'd call."
His voice was smooth. Familiar. And suddenly, terrifying.
She swallowed. "We need to talk."
A pause. Then, "Of course. Family should always talk."
But something in his tone made her skin prickle.
She ended the call with a time and place. Neutral ground. Public. Controlled.
As she set the phone down, her heart pounded-not with fear, but with clarity.
...
The sky was bruising toward dusk when Debra stepped out onto the fire escape, phone in hand. The city below moved like nothing was wrong- cars honking, someone laughing across the street, the scent of someone's dinner curling up from a nearby window.
She dialed.
Lean picked up on the second ring. "Hey, baby."
Debra closed her eyes. "Hey."
There was a pause, soft and familiar.
"You okay?" Lean asked.
"No," Debra said. "But I'm steady."
She told her everything-what her father had found, the call with her uncle, the plan to meet. She didn't dramatize it. Just laid it out, like puzzle pieces on a table.
Lean listened without interrupting, the way she always did.
When Debra finished, there was a beat of silence. Then: "You're brave. You know that, right?"
"I'm scared."
"Brave doesn't mean not scared. It means you show up anyway."
Debra smiled faintly. "You always say the right thing."
"I just say what I see. And what I see is someone who's walking into fire with her eyes open."
Debra leaned her head against the railing. "I wish you were here."
"I am," Lean said. "Not in the way we want. But I'm here. And when this is over, I'll be back. We'll make something beautiful again."
Debra nodded, even though Lean couldn't see it. "Promise?"
"Promise."
"enough about me, how's coding going.. And those crazies of yours in the office"
They stayed on the line a little longer Lean filling her in with the coding, until there was not much to say. Just breathing together.
When they finally hung up, Debra didn't feel lighter. But she felt clearer. Like the fog had lifted just enough to see the road ahead.
She went back inside, pulled the folder from the drawer, and tucked it into her bag.
Tomorrow, she would face him.
But tonight, she would sleep with the memory of Lean's voice in her ear, and the quiet strength of knowing she wasn't alone.