Nadia's POV
I couldn't stop thinking about Sarah.
Three days in this loft, and the betrayal that hurt most wasn't Marcus, it was her.
Marcus had always been a mentor, a father figure. Distant. Professional. I'd admired him but never really knew him.
But Sarah? We'd shared everything. Late-night drinks after brutal trials. Tears over failed relationships. Laughter during rare good days.
How much of it had been real?
You keep checking your phone, Dominic said.
I looked down. My fingers hovered over the burner phone he'd given me, monitored, restricted, but functional for research.
I was thinking about calling Sarah, I admitted.
Bad idea.
I know. I just I stopped. I need to understand why. Why she did it.
Money. Power. The same reason everyone betrays everyone. He was reviewing files at the table, barely looking at me. Understanding won't make it hurt less.
Maybe not. But it might help me stop feeling like an idiot for not seeing it.
He finally looked up. You're not an idiot. You're someone who wanted to believe in friendship. That's not weakness.
Feels like weakness right now.
That's because you're hurt. Give it time. The hurt turns to anger. Anger is more useful.
I sat across from him. Is that what you did? After your wife and daughter died? Turned hurt into anger?
His jaw tightened. Yes. And it turned me into a monster. So maybe don't follow my example.
But you survived.
Surviving isn't the same as living.
We worked in silence for a while. Me reviewing Marcus's case files. Him organizing evidence for the coming weeks.
Can I ask you something? I said finally.
Probably won't stop you if I say no.
Your wife, Elena. And your daughter, Lily. What were they like?
He went very still. That's off-limits.
You know everything about me. My foster care history. My failed relationships. My fears. It's not fair.
Life isn't fair, Counselor.
I know. But partnership is. And you said we're partners now.
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he stood and walked to a shelf I hadn't noticed before. Pulled down a photo frame that had been facing backward.
He handed it to me.
The photo showed a younger Dominic, lighter, happier with a beautiful dark-haired woman and a small girl. They were laughing, all three of them. Genuine joy.
The date on the frame: eight years ago.
Elena was a teacher, Dominic said quietly. Third grade. She believed every kid deserved a chance, even the difficult ones. Especially the difficult ones. He smiled, but it was painful. She saw good in everyone. Even me.
And Lily?
Five years old. Obsessed with dinosaurs. Wanted to be a paleontologist when she grew up. His voice cracked slightly. She'd memorize facts and tell them to anyone who'd listen. Drove my father crazy at family dinners.
I studied the photo. The happiness was so real it hurt to look at.
What happened to them?
Home invasion. That's what the police called it. Random robbery gone wrong. He took the photo back. It wasn't random. My father ordered it because I was going to testify against him to the FBI. He killed them to teach me what happens when you betray the family.
The words hung in the air.
I'm sorry, I whispered.
Everyone's sorry. Doesn't bring them back. He set the photo on the shelf, facing forward this time. I became exactly what killed them, a criminal, a monster because it was the only way to survive losing them.
And now?
Now I'm trying to prove I'm not a murderer so I can die in prison for the crimes I actually committed instead of ones I didn't. He laughed bitterly. Not exactly redemption.
It's a start.
He looked at me, something shifting in his expression. You still believe people can change. Even after everything.
I have to. Otherwise what's the point?
Before he could respond, the computer chimed.
New email. Encrypted. From an address I didn't recognize.
Dominic moved to the screen immediately. Don't open it.
Why?
Because we're not supposed to have outside contact. Anyone who knows how to reach us is either part of the conspiracy or setting a trap.
But curiosity won. I clicked it open.
The message was short: Ms. Cross - I worked with your friend Sarah Chen. She came to me three days ago, crying, saying she'd made a terrible mistake. Said Marcus Webb had forced her to plant evidence against you. She wanted to help fix it. I told her to go to the FBI. The next day, she stopped answering calls. Please be careful. I think she's in danger. - Officer Jamie Brooks, Metro PD.
My blood ran cold.
Sarah tried to help me, I whispered. She went to someone for help.
Or this is Marcus trying to draw you out. Dominic was already tracing the email. Setting a trap using your emotional connection to Sarah.
What if it's real? What if she's in danger because she tried to do the right thing?
Then she made her choice. Just like we're making ours.
We have to warn her!
With what? A burner phone she won't recognize? An email that could be traced? He grabbed my shoulders. Think, Nadia. Use your legal training. This email appeared conveniently when you're feeling emotional about Sarah's betrayal. The timing is perfect for making you do something stupid.
He was right. But the thought of Sarah in danger, even after her betrayal made my chest tight.
Can you at least verify if Officer Jamie Brooks exists? I asked.
Already doing it.
He pulled up Metro PD records. Officer Jamie Brooks. Real badge. Real history. Five years on the force. Clean record.
The person exists, Dominic admitted. Doesn't mean the email is legitimate.
But it might be.
It might be a lot of things.
I read the email again. Something about it felt real. Desperate.
I'm going to respond, I said.
Bad idea.
Maybe. But if Sarah is in danger because she tried to help me, I need to know.
I typed quickly before I could change my mind: This is Nadia. If this is real, what's something only Jamie Brooks and Sarah would know? Prove this isn't a trap.
I hit send.
Now what? I asked.
Now we wait. And prepare for whatever comes next.
We didn't have to wait long.
Ten minutes later, a response: Sarah's favorite drink is vodka cranberry, but she always orders gin and tonic first to seem sophisticated. She has a scar on her left ankle from when you two went hiking three years ago and she tripped on a root. She's terrified of birds. And she's been crying about betraying you for the past week. That real enough?
My hands shook. Only Sarah would know that about the hiking trip. Only someone close to her would know about the bird thing.
It's real, I said. This is real.
Or Sarah told Marcus everything about herself and he's using it.
Why would Sarah tell Marcus about being afraid of birds?
Dominic had no answer.
I typed: Is Sarah okay? Have you seen her?
The response came faster: No. She hasn't reported for duty in two days. Her apartment is empty. No one knows where she is. I'm worried Marcus did something to her.
My stomach dropped.
They killed her, I whispered. Or took her. Because she tried to help.
You don't know that.
What else could it be?
Another email arrived. This one had an attachment.
A photo.
I opened it with shaking hands.
Sarah's apartment. The door was open. Furniture overturned. Clear signs of a struggle.
Oh God, I breathed.
The next email: I found her apartment like this an hour ago. I haven't reported it yet because I don't know who to trust. If Marcus is as corrupt as Sarah said, he might have people everywhere. I need to know are you safe? Is what Sarah said true? Is the whole courthouse corrupt?
I started typing a response, but Dominic grabbed my wrist.
Stop. Think. If you admit you're alive and investigating, you put this Officer Brooks in danger. You put yourself in more danger. You confirm everything Marcus suspects.
But if Sarah is missing
Then she's already gone. And responding won't bring her back.
His words were harsh but true.
I closed the laptop.
What do we do? I asked.
We keep investigating. We gather evidence. And if Sarah is alive, we make sure the people who hurt her pay for it.
And if she's not?
His expression softened. Then we make sure she didn't die for nothing.
I nodded, throat tight.
That night, I couldn't sleep again. Kept thinking about Sarah's apartment. The overturned furniture. Signs of a struggle.
My best friend, missing. Possibly dead.
Because she'd tried to help me.
Through the walls, I heard Dominic moving around. Still awake.
I got up and found him on the balcony, staring at the city lights.
Can't sleep? he asked without turning.
Kept thinking about Sarah.
Me too. About Elena and Lily. How I failed to protect them.
I stood beside him. You didn't fail them. Your father killed them.
I gave him reason to. If I'd just played along, pretended to be a good son
They'd still be dead. Maybe just later. Men like your father don't stop.
He finally looked at me. You really believe that?
I've defended enough criminals to know. The violent ones don't stop until they're stopped.
We stood in silence, two people destroyed by the people they'd trusted.
Sarah made a choice, Dominic said. She betrayed you, then tried to fix it. Both were her choices. Whatever happened to her, that's on Marcus, not you.
Doesn't feel that way.
It never does.
I thought about the email from Officer Brooks. Sarah crying. Saying she'd made a terrible mistake.
She felt guilty, I said. That's something.
Guilt doesn't undo betrayal.
No. But it means she still had a conscience. That's more than Marcus or your father can say.
Dominic almost smiled. You're determined to see good in people, aren't you?
Someone has to.
We went back inside. Back to work. Back to gathering evidence against people who wanted us dead.
But as I reviewed files, I kept thinking about what Dominic had said: Everyone you trust will hurt you.
Marcus had hurt me. Sarah had hurt me. Judge Rivers had hurt me.
Would Dominic hurt me too, eventually?
Or was he different because he'd never pretended to be anything other than what he was a criminal trying to survive?
I didn't have an answer.
But as day three turned into day four, I realized something: I was starting to trust him.
Not completely. Not stupidly.
But enough to keep working. Enough to keep fighting.
Enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could survive this together.
And that scared me more than anything else.