-Devon.
The air in the gym still held the bite of early morning, cool enough that each breath felt sharp in my chest despite the heat building under my skin. I'd finished my last set and dropped onto the bench, the metal frame creaking slightly under my weight. Sweat slid down my temples, gathering at my jaw before falling to the floor. I dragged a towel across my face, the rough cotton catching on the stubble along my chin, then reached for my bottle. The water was cold enough to sting the back of my throat, a welcome kind of burn, before I followed it with a swig of the energy drink. The sweetness clung to my tongue, heavy and chemical.
Treasure's reflection caught in the mirror ahead before I heard his footsteps behind me. He was moving from the row of treadmills, hair sticking damply to his forehead, shirt clinging in places to the lines of his torso. He came closer, his voice casual, like we were picking up a thread from nowhere.
"You woke up really early this morning."
I twisted the cap back onto the bottle, looking at him in the glass. "And you returned really late last night."
He shrugged. "Yeah. Elias had a lot of work to do, so I had to stay out."
I let the towel rest over my shoulders, watching his posture, the looseness of it. "That Elias is quite a peculiar character, isn't he?"
"Yeah," he said simply. "He is."
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, my eyes still fixed on his reflection. "I have a question. Did Elias make any advances on you?"
The shift in him was instant. He didn't answer right away—his brows lifted, his eyes narrowing just enough to register surprise. "What are you saying?"
"I'm just asking," I said, keeping my tone level. "There's been… words going around about these types of people. I was wondering, since you're close to him, did he make any advances on you?"
His gaze cut away briefly before settling back on me. "Well, no. Nothing happened."
"Okay," I said, pushing up from the bench. "I'll take your word for it."
I started to move toward the free weights, but his hand closed around my arm, the grip firm enough to hold me in place.
"Why are you circling around so much?" he said. "Feels like something's wrong with you and you're just not being honest with me."
I looked down at his hand on my arm before meeting his eyes. "I'm not sure who's not being honest here—me or you. Because if I can say something, I'm being one hundred percent straightforward. You're the one circling around. You're the one not confident with whatever comes out of your mouth. You're turbulent, you're wrestling with something, and you're not telling me. And I find it pathetic that you think you can get away with that with me."
"I'm not circling around," he said quickly. "I'm being one hundred percent honest with you."
I stepped in closer, close enough for him to see the heat in my eyes. "It's disgusting that you can look me in the eye right now and tell me you're being one hundred percent honest when I know you're not. There are a lot of things I let slide, things I've ignored and walked away from. But it gets to a point where I have to draw a line. And whatever's going on—this pretending to care for me while keeping things from me—it doesn't go together. If you care about me, you'd be honest. You'd look at me, just like you are right now, and tell me the truth."
I let the silence sit between us, then asked again, slower this time, each word deliberate. "Did anything happen between you and Elias?"
"No," he said, holding my gaze. "Nothing happened between me and Elias."
I let the answer settle, but it rang hollow in my chest. "And I don't trust you."
I pulled my arm from his hand and walked away, the echo of my steps swallowed quickly by the thrum of treadmills and the low hum of the air vents.
The locker room was empty except for the low buzz of the fluorescent lights and the faint scent of disinfectant clinging to the tiles. I set my towel down on the bench, the fabric still damp in my hands, and sat for a moment with my elbows on my knees. The air in here was cooler, but it didn't do much to settle the heat still coiled in my chest.
I replayed the exchange in my head, every pause, every flicker in his expression when I asked the question. The answer had been quick enough, but there was something behind it, something too measured, like he'd had it ready. I hated that my mind was already building possibilities, layering them in ways I couldn't shake off.
The sound of the showers at the far end came on, water hitting tile in a steady rhythm. I reached into my bag for my phone, then set it back down without unlocking it. My jaw ached from clenching it.
Trust wasn't something I gave lightly, and once I started to doubt it, the cracks spread fast.
I ran both hands over my face, forcing myself to breathe deep, the smell of metal lockers and soap heavy in the air. There was no point in letting this drag me into the rest of the day, but the weight of it was already there, sitting just behind my sternum.
Mark called us into the operations room just after midday. The low hum of the wall-mounted screens filling the silence before he spoke. His stance was sharp, one hand resting on the table while the other flicked through the details on his tablet.
"Mr. Maxwell will be at the waterfront this afternoon," he said, scanning our faces to make sure the words landed. "Private gathering, select guests only. It will be discreet, but we're covering it as if it were public. Assignments are standard. Close-range with him, secondary in the perimeter, and staggered vehicles." His eyes flicked to Treasure. "You're with him." Then to me. "You'll handle the secondary approach team."
The confirmation sat cold in my chest. I nodded, took the folder he slid across the table, and flipped it open. Maps of the docks, guest list, timings. The layout was straightforward enough—open pier leading to a cordoned-off section where a small fleet of yachts sat moored.
When the briefing wrapped, we moved out to the vehicles. The sun outside had grown hotter, glaring off the polished black paint. Treasure was already walking toward the lead SUV, a small black earpiece in place, moving at Elias's pace even though Elias wasn't yet in sight. I caught the faintest glint of his sunglasses as he opened the rear passenger door, slipping inside without looking back.
I took my seat in the second vehicle, the leather warm under me. The engine vibrated through the floor as we pulled out, the convoy sliding into formation. Through the windshield, I watched the lead car's tinted glass, knowing exactly who was inside.
The route to the waterfront wound past stretches of glimmering water visible between the buildings. The closer we got, the more the air shifted, salt and diesel mixing in a scent that clung to the breeze. We passed security checkpoints one by one, each cleared with an exchanged nod and a wave through.
When we finally pulled into the private docking area, the sunlight was brighter off the water, throwing the white decks of the moored yachts into sharp relief. I stepped out, heat striking my shoulders, the tang of brine filling my lungs. The low murmur of distant conversation carried over the slap of water against the pier.
Treasure emerged from the lead SUV with Elias at his side. They moved together toward the gangway of the yacht as though the rest of us were part of the scenery. I fell in with my team, positioning myself where I had a clear view of the boarding point, my earpiece already alive with brief check-ins from the others.
From where I stood, I could see the small turn of Elias's head toward Treasure, the subtle lean as he spoke. Treasure's mouth shifted into something that wasn't quite a smile, and they kept walking, disappearing onto the yacht while the reflection of the water flickered across them like it had been invited into the conversation.
The yacht swayed gently underfoot, the low hum of its engines a constant beneath the background of clinking glasses and muted conversations. Guests stood in small clusters along the deck, sunlight catching on their watches and the thin stems of their champagne flutes. My post was a few steps back from the main seating area, close enough to track the flow of people without crowding the gathering. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and expensive cologne, layered over the faint tang of polished teak.
It was during a lull, when the guests' focus shifted toward the far side of the deck to admire the skyline, that Elias broke away. He left Treasure speaking to a tall woman in pale linen and walked toward the stern. My eyes tracked him automatically, expecting him to stop at the railing. Instead, he kept going until he was level with me.
He didn't look at me right away. He leaned on the polished rail, eyes on the water, as if the conversation were with himself. "I'm told you handled the summit perimeter better than anyone I've had before."
The statement landed like it was meant to be polite, but the pause after it carried weight. "Just doing my job," I said, keeping my gaze on the surrounding movement.
"I imagine it's not an easy job," he went on, the sunlight cutting a sharp edge across his profile. "All those hours, all those people to manage… and then to switch to something so… close-range." He said the last two words as if tasting them, glancing at me then, a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth.
I kept my stance even. "Assignments change. We adapt."
His eyes lingered on me, studying, like he was turning over a coin and checking both sides. "You and Treasure—how long have you been working together?"
"Years," I said, my tone clipped enough to mark the end of the answer.
"Ah." He nodded slowly, as though that confirmed something only he knew. His gaze drifted back to the water. "That kind of familiarity… it's rare. Most people don't keep their colleagues so close." He took a measured sip from the glass in his hand. "I wonder if it makes the job easier, or harder."
He wasn't asking for an answer so much as watching for one. I let the silence stand, the gulls circling overhead filling the gap between us.
After a moment, he set his glass down on the rail, still looking outward. "I'm curious, you see. Treasure… has a way of making people pay attention to him. I've noticed you're no exception."
It was deliberate—the choice of words, the tone that never tipped into accusation but carried the suggestion all the same. My jaw tightened, though I kept my eyes scanning the deck. "My attention is on my work."
"I'm sure it is." He let the words hang in the warm air before picking up his glass again. His smile returned, faint but deliberate. "I like to understand the people around me. Helps me decide how much I can trust them."
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned back toward the cluster of guests, his steps unhurried, the sunlight catching the back of his suit as he returned to Treasure. I watched them rejoin as if nothing had passed between us, but the trace of his voice stayed lodged in the back of my mind, like a splinter you can't quite see but still feel.
The moment he walked away, I stayed where I was, the weight of the exchange settling in like something heavy dropped into still water.
We'd been on this job for close to a month now. Long enough to learn the rhythm of his habits, the patterns of his movements, the easy familiarity he had with the people around him. At the start, it was easy to write off his proximity as part of his nature. Elias was the kind who liked to know his people, who could stand close enough to make you feel singled out without crossing the line into anything that looked deliberate. I had seen him do it with Cassandra, with Mark, with the chefs in the kitchen. But this was different.
It wasn't just hovering. It was the kind of closeness that felt like he was circling something in his head, testing it from a few angles to see how it would react. The way he came to me just now—skipping the small talk, stepping straight into questions about my history with Treasure—didn't track with anything I'd seen from him before. There was no practical reason for him to ask. We haven't done anything here to warrant attention. In fact, I haven't been near Treasure outside of the job since before we arrived in this place. A month, give or take, since we were anything other than colleagues working in the same orbit.
So what exactly is he evaluating? What does he think he's going to find by asking me about something that doesn't exist here anymore? Unless he's looking for confirmation of something he already suspects. Which tells me he's watching. Not just Treasure, but me too. And if he's watching both of us, then whatever curiosity he has isn't about the job alone.
That tells me exactly what I needed to know.
I shifted position along the deck, keeping to the shaded side where the glare off the water wasn't as sharp. The guests had started to settle into smaller pockets of conversation, some near the stern where the breeze was stronger, others clustered by the open bar. From my vantage point, I had a clear line toward the bow, where Elias stood again with Treasure.
They were apart from the main group, just enough that the din of voices didn't quite reach them. Elias had his hand resting lightly on the railing, his body angled toward Treasure in a way that closed off half the view behind him. Treasure leaned in to hear him over the wind, his head tilted slightly, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the faint lift at the corner of his mouth.
It wasn't anything overt—no touch that lingered too long, no expression that could be pinned as inappropriate—but there was a stillness in the space between them, a shared attention that felt separate from the rest of the afternoon. Elias spoke, his lips barely moving, and Treasure gave a short nod, his hand brushing the edge of the railing in a mirrored rhythm.
The sound of someone approaching pulled my focus for a second, but when I looked back, Elias had shifted closer, close enough that his shoulder nearly touched Treasure's. Whatever he said next drew a small laugh out of him, quick and quiet, the kind you keep between two people.
It was enough. Enough to tell me the conversation earlier hadn't been idle curiosity. He wasn't just watching—he was working something out for himself, and Treasure was giving him the space to do it.
I kept my eyes on the bow, the picture of Elias and Treasure still fixed in my mind even as I scanned the rest of the deck. The hum of conversation had thinned, replaced by the muted clink of ice in glasses and the slap of water against the hull. That was when I caught the uneven rhythm of footsteps coming up beside me.
Cassandra.
She moved like the deck was tilting harder than it was, her heels catching on the narrow gaps in the wood. A half-empty flute of champagne dangled loosely from her fingers, and the scent of it preceded her, mixed with whatever sharp floral perfume she'd chosen for the day. Her hair was slightly out of place, not enough for anyone else to notice, but I'd seen her at enough briefings to know this was a different version of her.
"Devon," she said, drawing my name out as though it had a taste she was trying to place. "You are… far too serious for this kind of weather."
"I'm working," I said, keeping my tone even.
She tilted her head like I'd told her a secret. "You always are. That's the trouble with men like you. You stand in one place, you watch, you listen… but you don't play the game." Her glass made a small circle in the air as she spoke, a slosh of champagne catching the sun.
"I'm here to do my job, not play games."
"Mm," she hummed, leaning a little closer. "That's what you think. But you're already in one. Everyone on this boat is. The difference is whether you know the rules or not."
Her words were loose, but there was a clarity in them, a thread of something sharp hidden under the haze. She gestured vaguely toward the bow, not looking where her hand pointed. "You think it's about protection, about keeping people safe. It's not. It's about knowing who is in whose pocket, who owes what to whom… and who is worth protecting for reasons that have nothing to do with security."
I stayed silent, letting her keep talking.
Her eyes found mine, and for a second her voice steadied. "You watch him like you're waiting for proof. Careful with that. Some men… they enjoy being watched for the wrong reasons. They'll feed you just enough to keep you guessing, and then they'll move the pieces when you're looking the other way."
She took a sip, her gaze breaking to the water, and just like that, the sharpness was gone again. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" she said, almost dreamily, before wandering off toward the bar, leaving her words hanging in the air like a line cast into deep water.
Her voice stayed with me even after she'd gone, each word threading through the noise of the deck until it was louder in my head than the water against the hull. I stayed still, but my eyes drifted from the bow, breaking the tether that had been keeping them on Elias.
I stared instead at the rippling line where the sea met the sky, letting the reflection of the sun fracture into a thousand shards on the surface. The air was warm and heavy, the salt clinging to the back of my throat with every breath. Her phrasing replayed in pieces—Some men enjoy being watched for the wrong reasons. They'll feed you just enough to keep you guessing. There had been an unsteady sway in her body, but not in her meaning.
It made me wonder how many times I had mistaken the act of watching for control, how often I had assumed the person being observed was unaware of it. Watching was supposed to give you an advantage, let you see the move before it came. But if they wanted you to see, if they were choosing what to show, then the advantage wasn't yours at all.
I felt the wind shift, warmer now, carrying the low murmur of conversation from somewhere behind me. My focus stayed on the water, the horizon a thin, sharp line in the distance. It was steadier than any of the people on this deck.
For the first time since boarding, I let my attention loosen. Not out of trust, but because I could feel that something was already in motion, and staring at it wouldn't change its pace.
The crowd had thinned but not dissolved, voices floating over the low roll of water against the pier. I stayed in my place along the side rail, watching the movement of the remaining guests. Sunlight spilled over the deck in fractured patterns, caught and bent by the glass panels and the polished metal fittings.
That was when she approached—an older woman in a cream silk dress, the fabric shifting softly with each step. Her hair was swept into a careful twist at the nape of her neck, a pair of pearl earrings catching light as she moved. The glass in her hand tilted slightly, amber liquid settling with each sway of her wrist.
"You look far too serious for such a beautiful day," she said, her voice warm with a practiced ease. She stopped close enough for the faint scent of her perfume to reach me—something rich, floral with a trace of spice underneath.
The words caught me in a way they shouldn't have, familiar enough to feel rehearsed. You look far too serious for such a beautiful day. Cassandra had said almost the same thing to me earlier, her voice carrying that unsteady sway of champagne, her meaning half-shaded but still sharp underneath.
Now here it was again, spoken in a steadier tone, wrapped in silk and perfume instead of the blurred edges of a drunk conversation. I didn't believe in coincidence when it came to phrasing like that. Either it was something they all said to break the ice with people like me, or it was being passed around like an inside joke I wasn't in on.
"I'm working," I replied, keeping my tone neutral but not cold.
"That's a shame," she said, her eyes taking a slow pass over me, lingering just long enough to make her intention clear. "Men like you shouldn't be left standing alone. You look… wasted on a post like this."
My gaze stayed on the flow of people across the deck, though I could feel the weight of her attention as tangibly as the sun on my back. "It's my job to be here."
"Jobs can be set aside," she said lightly, lifting her glass to her lips. Her eyes didn't leave mine over the rim. "I imagine you're very good at what you do, but I also imagine you're very good at… other things."
I didn't answer that. The chatter of another group drifted closer, giving her an audience if she wanted one, but she kept her focus fixed on me. She set her glass on the rail beside her, the clink against the wood deliberate.
"I'll be around," she said with a small, knowing smile, as though she'd given me something to think about. Then she picked up her glass again and walked back toward the center of the deck, silk catching the wind just enough to move like water behind her.
I shifted my stance, refocusing on the deck, the sound of her heels fading into the murmur of the crowd.
From my position at the rail, I let my eyes sweep the deck as if I were checking the flow of the guests, but my focus sharpened when I saw him. Elias, standing a few paces from the bow, head angled just enough to give him a clear line toward me. He wasn't speaking to anyone, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, the set of his shoulders relaxed. It was the stillness that gave him away. He'd been watching.
Before I could hold his gaze long enough to make the point, a familiar voice drifted in from my left. Cassandra, weaving back into view like a thread pulling itself through fabric, her glass now empty, the perfume sharper in the cooling air. Her eyes were bright in a way that didn't match the hour.
"You know why he's his favorite?" she said, almost sing-song, like she was telling me a secret.
I didn't bother hiding the sigh. "I really don't have the strength to babysit a drunken you right now."
She ignored the barb, leaning on the rail beside me. "No, but do you know who brought you the clothes on the first day?"
Her smile sharpened. "That little fawn over there ran into Elias and told him you didn't have clothes."
The words landed heavy. My head turned before I could stop it, eyes finding Treasure where he stood, shoulder angled toward Elias, speaking to one of the guests. A tight, hot pressure built at the base of my skull. In the space of a breath I pictured crossing the deck and driving my fist into his face, dragging Cassandra to the side and throwing her into the black water below, and setting a match to Elias where he stood. The violence of the thought surprised me in its clarity.
I pulled my eyes back to her. "What do you want from me? And so what if he talked to Elias? What does that have to do with me?"
Cassandra's mouth curled in a way that was more pity than amusement. "Welp. I thought you should know how he got this advantage. He acted all helpless and cute, and Elias has a soft spot for them. Too bad, really… wish he would ever consider women like me."
She leaned in closer, her breath thick with champagne, her voice dropping into a bitter slur that tried to sound like a joke. "But no—he likes his little strays. Scoops them up, keeps them close, pets them when they behave. Guess I'm too old for that kind of game. Men like him don't like women who bite back."
That was it. The edge in her voice, the way she shaped the word them. It clicked into place—she was caught in her own frustration, tormented by feelings for Elias she couldn't bury, and she'd rather set the whole deck alight than let anyone else have what she wanted.
Before I could answer, she lurched forward, her hand gripping the rail as she leaned over and retched into the water below. The sound was sharp and wet in the quiet between us. I stepped back once, then again, until I had turned away entirely. I left her there with her perfume, her empty glass, and whatever fire she wanted to burn.
I cut toward the stern, where Mark stood scanning the pier. The decision came without hesitation, sharp as the salt stinging in the breeze.
"I need to make a call," I told him, keeping my voice low.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Use your agency phone."
"I'd rather not. It's personal, and I don't want it on the log."
For a moment he studied me, weighing the ask, then gave a short nod. "Five minutes. Don't wander too far."
The gangway creaked under my steps as I left the yacht. On the pier, the air opened up—colder, cleaner, the sounds of the crowd softened by distance. That's when I saw it tucked against the wall of a shuttered ticket booth: a payphone, the casing sun-bleached and the metal plate dulled. I hadn't seen one in years.
The handset was heavier than I expected when I lifted it, the cord stiff and coiled. I dropped the coins into the slot, each clink sharp in the quiet, and dialed Trevor's number from memory.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end was alert, but not rushed.
"Yeah, this is Delta Charlie-804" I gave the code they'd assigned me when I joined the agency, the one meant to confirm identity without using names.
A beat of silence, then his tone shifted, brisk but steady. "Devon?"
"I need to return to the agency as soon as possible," I said, gripping the receiver until my knuckles ached. "This is no joke."
There was the faint rustle of papers on his end. "All right. I'll speak with Mark and Cassandra, see what can be arranged."
"Do whatever it takes to bring me back, Trevor. Please." The word was heavier than I meant it to be.
"Yes, I promise," he said, the steadiness in his voice just enough to ground me. "Just calm down, okay?"
I let out a slow breath. "Okay."
The receiver clicked softly into its cradle. I stood there for a moment longer, palm pressed to the cool metal, before turning back toward the yacht, the murmur of voices and the warm glow of the deck lights drawing me in from the pier.