He stood there like the ghost I'd spent years chasing.
Adrian Vale.
The man who destroyed my family and walked away untouched.
I'd played this moment over in my head a hundred times, what I'd say, how it would feel, the satisfaction of seeing guilt on his face. But now that he was standing in front of me, tall, unreadable, wearing that same calm that used to make headlines call him a hero, I realized something I didn't want to admit.
I wasn't ready.
He looked up from the file in his hand as if my arrival was an inconvenience, not a reckoning. "Miss Quinn." His voice was low, steady, the kind of voice that could talk anyone into believing a lie.
"You remember me?" I asked, keeping my tone sharp. "Or do you forget all the people you destroy?"
He didn't blink. "If I destroyed you, you wouldn't be standing here."
Arrogant. Cold. Infuriating.
Everything I imagined him to be and yet, worse.
I pulled the folder from my bag and slammed it on his desk. Pages spilled out of my brother's mission report, the classified extracts I'd fought for months to obtain. His name appeared again and again in bold black ink: Agent Adrian Vale, lead strategist, operation compromised.
"This is your mess," I said. "You leaked the intel. My brother died because of you."
For a moment, he just stared at the papers. Then, without warning, he stepped closer, closing the distance between us. The air shifted tense, electric.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then enlighten me," I said. "Go on. Tell me how you're not the monster in this file."
He gave a humorless smile. "You think you know the truth because you've read a few stolen reports? You don't know half of it, Miss Quinn."
The way he said my name, calm but sharp, made my pulse jump. I hated that. I hated that even standing in front of him, fueled by years of anger, my body still betrayed me.
"I know my brother trusted you," I said, voice cracking despite myself. "And he came back in a coffin."
Something flickered behind his eyes, then a brief, painful shadow, before he masked it again. "I didn't betray him."
"Then who did?"
He hesitated. That silence told me more than any words could. There was something he wasn't saying, something that made his jaw tighten, his eyes darken.
I took a step closer, refusing to back down. "You could've saved him."
"And gotten myself killed? Maybe," he said, his tone sharp now, controlled fury laced beneath it. "But you have no idea what really happened that night. You're chasing ghosts."
"You're one of them."
He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Be careful what you dig for, Elara. Some truths don't just hurt, they burn."
He turned away, and for some reason, that dismissal stung worse than anything else. I stood there, heart pounding, anger boiling over. "Don't you dare warn me," I snapped. "You don't get to play protector after what you did."
He didn't respond. Just picked up the folder, scanned a few pages, and said quietly, "You shouldn't have this. It'll get you killed."
"I'll take my chances."
Our eyes met again, and for the first time, I saw the weight in his gaze, the exhaustion, the kind of guilt that doesn't fade. It wasn't the look of a man proud of what he'd done. It was the look of someone haunted.
Still, I refused to believe it. I couldn't. If Adrian Vale wasn't the villain, then everything I'd built my life around, my anger, my purpose, would crumble.
"I'm not afraid of you," I said finally.
"You should be afraid of who's watching you," he murmured, eyes flicking toward the window.
I turned instinctively, but there was nothing there. When I looked back, he was already walking toward the door. "You've made yourself a target, Elara," he said. "Walk away before it's too late."
"Not a chance."
He paused, just for a second, and I caught it again that small, almost imperceptible crack in his control. Then he left, leaving the office heavy with unspoken words.
I should've been satisfied. I'd found him, confronted him, and thrown the truth in his face.
But satisfaction didn't come.
Instead, there was a strange tightness in my chest, anger tangled with something I couldn't name. Curiosity. Doubt.
That night, as I sat at my desk surrounded by the scattered pages of my investigation, I noticed something odd. One of the documents in my folder had been replaced with fresher ink, and the header was slightly different. It wasn't the version I'd stolen.
And at the bottom, a handwritten line:
You're not the only one looking for answers.
No signature. No hint. Just that one message that made my blood run cold.
I jumped when my phone buzzed. A private number. I hesitated before answering.
"Still awake?" The voice was unmistakable. Adrian.
My throat tightened. "What do you want?"
"Someone broke into your apartment an hour ago," he said. "Don't go back there. Pack what you need and meet me at the safehouse on the 14th."
"How do you even know where I live?"
He paused. "Because whoever's after you found it first."
The line went dead.
For a long moment, I just sat there, phone still in my hand, the sound of my heartbeat loud in the silence. Maybe it was a lie. Maybe it was another manipulation. But deep down, I knew he was right.
The files. The threats. The sudden silence from my sources. I'd been getting too close.
And somehow, Adrian Vale, the man I swore I'd destroy, was the only one standing between me and whatever darkness I'd just uncovered.
I didn't know if I hated him more for what he'd done or for making me trust him when I shouldn't.
But as I grabbed my bag and stepped into the night, one thing was clear: this wasn't over.
If the truth was going to burn, I was going to be right in the fire with him.