My fingers trembled as I reached for the envelope. It felt heavier than paper had any right to be. The edges crinkled in my grip, and my heart pounded in my chest. I looked at Denise, silently begging her to say she was wrong. That this wasn't what it looked like. That the documents inside wouldn't be what I feared.
But her eyes told the truth. And it wasn't kind. I couldn't look away from them, not even when every part of me screamed for reassurance I knew she couldn't give me.
Denise was a detective—brilliant, sharp. But this wasn't a case. This was my life, my heart, and I didn't know if I could stomach the answers that were about to be laid out in front of me.
I slid my thumb under the flap and pulled out the papers. The first thing I noticed was the photos. Printed emails. A transaction report. My eyes darted over them—numbers, names, the tiny details that all added up to something far too real. Eli stood near the door, his presence tense, the stillness of the room almost suffocating. I wanted to throw the papers down, scream, but I couldn't move. I couldn't stop staring at the words in front of me.
Jason's name. A company I didn't recognize. A bank I did. An account tied to Jason. I didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was too clear.
"What is this?" My voice cracked, sharp and too thin, as if I were breaking apart from the inside out.
Denise stepped closer, her voice low and controlled. "We found a trail. Money moving in and out of an account linked to him. It's clean on the surface, but the pattern… it's deliberate. Quiet. Hidden. Someone's either using his name, or he's involved."
"No," I said, shaking my head, trying to push the fear away, trying to pretend this was all a mistake. "Jason wouldn't—he's not—"
But Denise didn't respond. Her silence was louder than any words could have been. She didn't need to say anything more. I could see it in her eyes—the pity, the concern, the realization that I was falling into something I might not be able to escape from.
The room seemed to shrink around me, the walls pressing in, suffocating me. The air felt thick, as though the truth were a living thing, wrapping itself around me, tighter and tighter.
I stared at the papers again, my mind racing, but unable to make sense of it. Jason's signature in the corner of a page screamed louder than any accusation could. It burned through my thoughts. This was real. This wasn't a coincidence.
"I need to see him," I whispered, the words leaving my lips before I even realized what I was saying. I needed answers. I needed him to tell me it wasn't true. I needed to hear it from his mouth, to see the truth in his eyes, even if it meant shattering everything.
Denise's gaze softened, but she didn't look away from the documents. Her voice was calm as she spoke. "Not yet. Let's find out who's really pulling the strings. If you walk in now, you could tip someone off."
I hated the logic in her words. I hated that she was right. But more than anything, I hated the doubt that was already worming its way into my bones. The fear that I might already know too much, and still, I would choose to believe Jason instead of the truth staring me in the face.
I stared at the papers again, each word a stab into my chest. My mind felt like it was moving in slow motion, each thought heavy and cumbersome. The silence pressed on my chest, and for a brief moment, I wished I could just shut everything out. Forget about the documents, the lies, the questions that had no answers.
The envelope hung loosely in my fingers, suddenly weightless, as though it had taken all it needed from me and left nothing in return.
I couldn't sit there anymore.
Without a word, I stood and walked out of the room. My feet moved on their own, dragging me down the narrow hallway of the safe house. The walls were off-white, cracked in places, but they might as well have been closing in. My lungs needed air that didn't feel like it was laced with betrayal.
I found a small kitchen and leaned against the counter. The tap was dripping. One drop. Then another. Then another. It filled the silence in a way that made my skin crawl.
Behind me, I heard Denise's voice—sharp, low. Then her footsteps retreating as she stepped outside to take a call. I didn't want to know who was on the other end. I didn't want to know anything anymore.
I turned toward the window, hoping the sight of the world outside would feel normal, feel steady.
And then I saw him.
Jason.
He was walking slowly down the narrow dirt path toward the safe house, a hoodie over his head, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His eyes scanned the front of the house, cautious, uncertain—like he wasn't sure if he was welcome.
I froze.
My breath caught in my throat. I gripped the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turned white.
He was here.
How did he know where I was? Why now? Why like this?
I didn't move. I couldn't. I couldn't tell if I wanted to run to him or hide forever.
He looked up suddenly, toward the window. Our eyes met. The moment stretched, suspended in the quiet between us.
There was something in his face—something I couldn't name. Not guilt. Not anger. But something deeper. A knowing. A weight.
Behind me, the door creaked as Denise came back in.
"Janica?" she called. Her voice wasn't casual anymore. It was urgent. Clipped.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Jason took one step forward.
I whispered his name.
The glass between us felt thinner than ever.