Amy's hysterical screams kept drilling into my head while the room filled with FBI agents. The light struck my eyes. Someone was shouting orders. Warning shots thundered out — probably at her security. Or maybe they were no longer warning shots. I didn't try to make sense of it.
"No… no, no…" I whispered into Theron's chest.
His grip did not loosen. He still held me tightly against him, only now his legs had begun to give way.
One more second, and without letting me go, he collapsed to his knees.
"No."
I tried to tear my hands free from his grasp, to understand where he had been wounded, but he would not allow it. Even after I had felt the shots tear into him with absolute clarity, Theron held me so tightly as though nothing had happened at all.
"That bitch will destroy you!" Amy burst into hysterical laughter. Her laugh was sick, rattling, drowning out the agents' shouts. "Do you see? Do you see, Theron? The biggest rat was right under your nose this entire time!"
Theron's grip finally weakened, and I immediately began feeling along his back. Nothing. No blood, no wound. Pulling away from him, I started dragging his coat off.
"That creature! Don't you see it?!" Amy kept screaming hysterically while the officers dragged her toward the exit.
"I'm fine," Theron said quietly, catching my hands. "And you're a complete idiot if you decided to pull something like this."
With one hand he unbuttoned his shirt and showed me the bulletproof vest.
I touched it with my palm, simply to make sure. Real. Relief…
"I'll be fine. But Derek…"
He nodded somewhere behind me.
Damn.
I rushed toward Derek and ran to Derek. Agents and medics were already beside him.
"He… he…"
The words got stuck somewhere in my throat. I could not say it out loud. I could not and would not. Because if I said it — it would become real.
He would survive.
He had to.
"Pulse is weak," one of the medics threw out while simultaneously barking orders.
An oxygen mask was placed over Derek's face. A stretcher appeared almost immediately. A minute later they were already wheeling him through the room beneath shouts and the heavy pounding of boots.
I followed after them, unable to tear my eyes away from the blood spreading across his clothes.
It was my fault.
Again.
Because of me, he had suffered again.
It was astonishing how consistently I ruined the lives of the people around me. Almost a talent.
Ostin ran past me — armed as well.
Theron.
I spun back around sharply.
Theron's dark, heavy gaze immediately fixed itself on me. Not a single word. Only anger and something else, something too cold, something…
Ostin was helping him to his feet. I ran over and instantly grabbed onto his shirt, trying to pull it open farther. I needed to make sure he truly was not wounded. Ostin did not react at all.
"No."
Theron's hands closed around my wrists again with that same dead grip.
I lifted my eyes to him through the tears rising inside me. There was nothing in his eyes except emptiness and anger.
I had to tell them. Now.
"Mirey."
The agent's voice forced me to pull my hands away from Theron.
"You all need to come with us. You too. Remember?"
I nodded dully.
While Theron looked as though everything inside him had frozen solid, then open shock had frozen across Ostin's face. He continued supporting Theron by the arm.
"You…"
But he never finished.
"We need to go to the station with them," I forced out while the agent stood nearby.
And I followed after him. Theron, Ostin, and all the security moved after the other officers.
During the drive, almost no one paid attention to me. Only sometimes one of the agents briefly updated us on Derek's condition. The doctors were fighting for his life.
And I was slowly suffocating in guilt and disgust toward myself. I never should have become the reason for all of this. Any way but this.
What had I even done?
At the station they led me into a separate office and finally removed all the listening devices they had sewn beforehand into my puffer jacket. Fortunately, Amy's guard had not found them. Though perhaps that night the universe had simply decided to leave me a little more time to suffer.
Then they left me alone.
To wait.
I could not sit still, so I paced endlessly around the room, wearing down the already ruined floor beneath my soles. Only almost an hour later did the door finally open, and Agent Ron stepped inside.
"Come with me."
His voice was calm and composed. Too calm for a night that could destroy my life.
They led me into a room at the other end of the corridor. Theron and Ostin were already there. Both sat in silence. Disgust was written across Ostin's face. Most likely toward me. And I could not blame him for it. I still had not told them anything.
"We know that you identified fifteen of our agents and kept them under surveillance," Ron began. "You also managed to trace transfers from Eve, who is currently listed as a suspect under the name Amy. We need all the data you have. In that case, we will not press charges against you, and the killing at the warehouse will be classified as self-defense and protection."
"How did you find out?" Ostin asked calmly.
Theron remained motionless in his chair. His gaze was directed somewhere in front of him, as though he were not even in this room at all.
Ron shifted his eyes to me.
The source of the information became obvious without words.
"Anything else?" Theron finally said.
His voice was colder than usual. Quieter. And that made it worse. Everything inside me clenched so tightly it became difficult to breathe. He was angry.
No… it was something far worse than anger.
I had to tell him. I had to explain everything.
"This is the primary basis on which we will build the charges against Amy in the deaths of our agents. Plus her emotional confession, which has already been recorded," Ron continued.
And it was obvious from his face that even he disliked admitting that Theron had had nothing to do with the murders all this time.
Theron's lawyer entered the office. Theron himself slowly rose from his seat — evenly, calmly, without a single unnecessary movement. Even his anger looked disciplined.
"Our lawyer will review your requests and hand over the documents. But only the ones you voiced just now."
It did not sound like a suggestion. It sounded like an order. He headed toward the exit.
I watched Ostin follow after him while the lawyer calmly spread folders across the table. Then I abruptly sprang from my seat.
I needed to tell him everything. Now.
Explain.
"Theron!"
I called after him when he and Ostin had already disappeared around the bend in the corridor. But he did not even turn around. I ran after them. Ahead, the main station hall was already opening up — noisy, bright, filled with agents, conversations, phones, and strangers' stares.
"Theron!" I called again.
No reaction.
"Miss Mirey, Derek…" one of Ron's assistants tried to stop me.
But I had almost caught up to him already.
"Theron!"
I grabbed his coat. He stopped. But he did not turn around.
"I already said NO." His voice sounded so sharp that the area around us instantly fell silent. People at the desks froze, watching us.
Theron violently shoved my hand away with such fury that I involuntarily stepped back.
"You have other things to worry about."
Evenly and calmly, almost without emotion. That only made it worse. Ostin silently guided him farther toward the exit.
Everything inside me tightened.
It felt as though my throat was being cut with dull knives every time I tried to breathe in. But I still said nothing. I simply let him leave without explaining anything.
Apparently, that was becoming my signature trait already — destroying everything with silence, and then watching after it.
I silently followed the agent who was supposed to take me to Derek. In the car, I clenched and unclenched my hand over and over again. The same hand Theron had shoved away so furiously only moments ago.
Derek, hanging by a thread because of me.
Theron.
I felt sick from myself.
"By the way, your sister arrived safely," the agent behind the wheel informed me. "Our people will continue monitoring the dormitory and the school for some time."
I only nodded in response.
To be honest, right now I could not even think about my sister. I was being torn apart from the inside because of Derek. Because of Theron.
And the worst part was that both of them had suffered precisely because one day I had decided that I could actually do something.
They led me into a hospital room saturated with the smell of medication and the endless beeping of machines that were literally keeping Derek alive at that moment.
"His condition is severe and unstable. We can't promise anything yet," the nurse said quietly, after which she almost immediately led me back into the corridor. "But he is under constant observation. A personal doctor has been assigned to him and will remain here around the clock until his condition stabilizes."
I only nodded and lowered myself into a seat across from the room.
"You don't have to wait. This could take days," she added carefully.
"I'll stay here," I interrupted at once.
It was the very least I could do for him. After everything he had suffered because of me. And if he did not make it out?..
My heart clenched painfully.
No. I could not even think about that. Even though before, both of us had easily imagined our own deaths. Almost casually. As something that would simply happen one day, and that would be that.
I closed my eyes, remembering us on the rooftop. The noise of cars below, distant police sirens, the silence between conversations. Back then Derek had wanted so desperately for all of this to finally end.
And now he was lying behind that door between life and death.
Because of me.
Everything inside tightened again into a painful knot. It felt impossible for it to hurt more, but each time the pain found a new place to sink its claws into. My thoughts circled over and over again. It was as though I were methodically destroying myself from the inside. I walked through the corridor. Drank disgusting hospital coffee. Walked again. Thought again. Drowned in it again.
"Hi."
A calm female voice tore me out of another circle of thoughts.
I raised my head and saw Ame — the doctor who had examined me after the torture.
What was she doing here?
"You? Why are you here?" I asked calmly.
"I came to visit Derek," she answered just as calmly and sat down beside me. Then she looked me over carefully. "You should rest. Go home, wash up. You've been here for two days already."
"Two days?" I repeated in shock.
Time had flown by so quickly, as though my mind had simply refused to register it.
"I have to…"
"I'll watch over him, don't worry. And I already spoke with the doctor. They say the biggest danger has passed."
She gently covered my hand with hers.
"Go home."
"Why are you here? Did Theron send you?" I asked, studying her closely.
"No. I came because of Derek."
Ame smiled faintly.
"How do you even know each other?"
I looked at her skeptically.
"I treated his wound. The one on his leg," she answered calmly. "Of course, he's a complete pain in the ass, but I wouldn't want him to give up either."
She knew.
He had told her.
And she truly cared.
That immediately made the noise in my head too loud. Questions crashed into one another, unpleasantly tangling together.
"Mirey, go home," Ame insisted gently again. "I'll take care of him. I promise."
Even if she was speaking sincerely, it did not make me feel any better. Maybe she was right. I really did need to pull myself together and…
Theron.
I needed to speak to him. I silently rose and headed toward the hospital exit. And, to my surprise, I almost immediately noticed one of Theron's familiar guards.
Of course.
Even now they were still watching me. Ignoring him, I went to hail a taxi, but he immediately stepped into my path.
"Get in the car," he ordered coldly. "We'll take you home. That was Mr. Vescari's final order."
"I'm not going home. I need to speak with Theron. Where is he right now?"
I stepped closer, and the question came out sharper than I had intended.
"We were ordered to take you home immediately after you left the hospital," he repeated with the same calmness.
"Then I'll go to his apartment. Then to the residence. And you can decide whether to drive me there or get out of my way."
I turned to leave, but the next second the guard unexpectedly grabbed my arm hard.
"Miss Mirey, don't complicate things."
His voice had grown noticeably colder.
I slowly lowered my gaze to his fingers gripping my wrist.
"You're pretty brave, allowing yourself something like that right in front of the FBI building," I remarked calmly with sarcasm.
He released me immediately.
Interesting.
"All right. We'll take you to his apartment."
The guard stepped aside and opened the door of the familiar car. I was no longer sure whether I should trust any of Theron's people after everything that had happened. Especially now. But I had no choice anyway. I got into the car, and it truly headed toward Theron's home.
But, as it turned out, I had been too naïve. Downstairs, at the entrance, they stopped me immediately and calmly informed me that they could not allow me upstairs.
Of course. As though Theron would ever let me come to him so easily after everything that had happened.
I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. I needed to see him. Explain everything. Everything that had remained unsaid between us.
But in response — nothing. Again and again the call ended unanswered.
"Miss Mirey, please, you need to go home," the guard insisted once more, opening the car door.
I froze helplessly in the middle of the street, not understanding what to do next. Getting into the residence on my own was almost impossible. Unless Ame…
Fine. I would go home, take a shower, and try to catch her at the hospital. Maybe she would tell me how to get there. I had no other options anyway.
This time I got into the car without resistance. About fifteen minutes later they dropped me off at my building. As usual, the guard came upstairs after me, and for some reason that unsettled me more than before.
Too much control. Too much silence.
Again I nervously clenched and unclenched my hand — the same one Theron had shoved away so furiously. Maybe I had been prepared for the fact that sooner or later he would leave me. But not like this. I needed to speak with him.
When I approached the apartment, I immediately noticed that the door was unlocked and light was pouring out from the living room. I pushed it open and froze.
Ostin was sitting on the sofa.
On the table before him stood an almost empty bottle of whiskey, and in his hand he calmly held a gun.
"Well, finally," he hissed through his teeth, taking a slow swallow.
The door behind my back closed.
The lock clicked.