Ava's POV – Sunday Morning
The morning came far too quickly. Ava woke with her head heavy and her body sunk into the mattress, the weight of the previous night pressing down on her chest. Her eyes burned, though she wasn't sure if it was from lack of sleep or from the emotions still swirling inside her.
The gala had ended hours ago, but its echoes clung to her—laughter, clinking glasses, eyes watching her from every direction. She squeezed her eyes shut, but another memory seeped through.
Her father's voice.
> "Avery," he had said, in that deep, unyielding tone, "it's time you moved back into the Queen estate. Enough of this living on your own nonsense."
They had been standing in one of the mansion's smaller lounges after the gala, the air heavy with cologne and the low murmur of relatives. She had smiled politely, the way she'd been trained to, and answered carefully.
> "I'll think about it."
She hadn't meant it. She couldn't go back there—not to the suffocating walls, not to the constant shadow of who her family was.
The memory faded, leaving her with a tightness in her chest. She sat up, running her hands through her hair. What she needed right now wasn't another replay of that conversation—it was tea. Something warm and steady to quiet the noise in her head.
Padding toward the kitchen, she almost didn't notice the figure slumped at the counter until a groggy voice spoke up.
"Finally."
Lena was a mess—hair sticking in every direction, eyes heavy with sleep. She wrapped her hands around a mug as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
"You didn't come in last night," she accused, pointing at Ava with a lazy wag of her finger. "Or at least, I didn't see you. I waited up, but…" she yawned, "you must've snuck in when I dozed off."
Ava poured hot water over a teabag, the steam curling into the air. "I came in late. Didn't want to wake you."
"You could've at least shaken me awake," Lena grumbled, then leaned forward with a glint in her eye that didn't match her sleepy face. "So? What happened?"
Ava gave her a flat look. "With what?"
"The gala!" Lena waved her hands like Ava had committed a crime by not offering details sooner. "Spill. All of it."
So Ava told her. Not every detail—just the safe ones. The conversations, the music, the fact she'd bumped into Zadu after years apart.
"He looks different now," Ava admitted with a small smile. "More… refined. Still has that mischievous look, though."
Lena smirked knowingly. "So where does that leave Mystery Muse?"
Ava blinked. "Who?"
"Tall, broody, and always appearing in your sketches," Lena teased, leaning her cheek into her palm.
Ava shook her head, hiding her expression behind a sip of tea. "He doesn't appear in them anymore."
"Uh-huh," Lena sang, clearly unconvinced. "If you say so."
Ava rolled her eyes, but the warmth in the kitchen felt grounding. It was easy, being here. It was the kind of moment she wished she could bottle and keep for days when the world felt heavier.
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Nathan's POV – Sunday Morning
The blinds in Nathan's cover apartment sliced the sunlight into sharp bars across the floor. He sat at the kitchen table, one hand wrapped around a cooling mug of coffee, the other resting on the trackpad of his laptop. The mission report stared back at him, unfinished.
He'd been replaying the night in pieces.
First, the gala—the music, the precision with which he'd worked the crowd, gathering what he could without drawing attention. Then the after-hours debrief at the agency. Director Keene had been brisk, focused entirely on Monica Queen, weighing their next steps with surgical detachment.
Ava's name hadn't been spoken once. She wasn't part of the file. She wasn't part of the plan.
And yet—
Nathan's jaw tensed. He could still see her in his mind: Ava, standing too close to Zadu, her smile soft, her laughter unguarded.
He took a long drink of coffee, letting its bitterness bite at the edge of his thoughts. He told himself the reaction was about the mission. Nothing else. Ava could be the leverage they needed and ge couldn't miss out on that opportunity.
Monica was careful. Too careful. But Ava… Ava was open, vulnerable. If anyone could be coaxed into giving something away, it was her.
He would make her trust him. Make her think she chose him.
For the mission.
Just the mission.
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Ava's POV – Late Afternoon
By the time the sun began dipping toward the horizon, Ava had retreated to her couch, legs folded beneath her. The apartment was quiet save for the scratch of her pencil over paper.
She wasn't thinking about what she was drawing, letting her hand move on its own—lines, curves, shadows. Slowly, a face began to form. Strong jaw. Piercing eyes.
When she realized who it was, her chest tightened.
Nathan.
She stared at the page for a long moment, then pressed the side of her hand over the drawing, smudging the careful lines until they blurred into nothing.
Annoyance simmered in her chest—not at him, but at herself.
With a small, frustrated huff, she shut the sketchpad and pushed it aside. Distance. That was what she needed.
Even if her mind didn't seem to want to give it to her.
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