Chapter 79

Amelia

I kept our encrypted messages on a second drive. Just in case. Not on a laptop. Not on the server. Instead, I tucked the data chip into the bottom of a hollow lipstick tube, matte red, the kind Jenny used to wear. It felt ridiculous, how theatrical it was. But the best hiding places always were. No one would think twice about it sitting at the bottom of a makeup bag. And if they did, if they somehow found it, they'd need a retinal scan and a voiceprint to even begin to touch what it held.

That tube stayed in the small zipper pouch inside my purse, always in reach, always on me.

I didn’t trust the system anymore. The walls were starting to hum with secrets, and I had the growing, awful feeling that someone was always just behind me, just out of frame, listening in.

I could feel eyes I couldn’t see. We’d said we’d stop, Richard and I. We had promised ourselves distance, logic, discipline. A clean break. And we held to it, for two whole days. Forty-eight hours of silence stretched like barbed wire between us.

At lunch on the third day, I sat at a high-top table in the lounge, picking through a protein bar and pretending to read donor analytics. A new intern slid into the seat beside me with a boldness only the oblivious could muster. All teeth and too much cologne.

“You always eat alone?” he asked, grinning like he already knew the answer.

I didn’t bother hiding my sigh. “Depends on the company.”

He laughed, like I’d complimented him. “I’m Emmett. Finance. Here for all your spreadsheet needs.”

I turned slightly toward him, more out of habit than interest. “That supposed to be a pickup line?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” he said, biting into his sandwich. “Look, I’m just saying, if someone as intimidatingly hot as you wants to grab a drink sometime, I’d be a fool not to ask.”

Before I could answer, a shadow passed behind him. Richard. Clipboard in hand, phone to his ear. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t break stride. Just walked past like I didn’t exist. But I saw it, the flex of his jaw, the way his fingers clenched tighter around the clipboard like he wanted to snap it in half. That was all I needed.

That night, the message came. Not a full mindlink, just a flash of image and feeling. A time. A location.

Garage. 11:15.

I was early. The campaign vehicle garage sat at the edge of the compound, past the backup generators and staff housing. I walked there with my coat pulled tight, collar up, breath fogging in the night air. My heart pounded like I was breaking a rule. The SUV was already waiting. I slid into the back seat. The door opened less than a minute later.

Richard didn’t speak. His eyes met mine, and that was enough.

“You can’t keep distracting me like this,” he said, voice thick as he pulled me into his lap.

I straddled him, breath catching. “Then stop asking me to.”

We collided like a dam breaking. Buttons popped. Zippers caught. His hands shoved my skirt up with shaking fingers, pushing my underwear aside as I kissed him with everything I hadn’t said in two days. His breath hitched as I rocked against him.

“You were jealous,” I whispered against his ear. “Watching Emmett talk to me.”

He didn’t answer, just growled low in his throat and sank into me in one smooth, practiced motion. I gasped, head falling forward onto his shoulder as he gripped my hips hard and moved me with a desperation that mirrored my own.

“Don’t do that again,” he muttered. “Don’t let anyone else near you.”

“Then don’t leave me alone,” I shot back, panting as his rhythm deepened. “You can’t have it both ways.”

The windows fogged as the air thickened. I braced myself against the seat, one hand tangled in his hair. The rocking of the SUV matched the urgency of our movements. Sweat slicked our skin. His lips found the hollow of my throat, biting down as I tightened around him.

“You’re mine,” he growled again.

“Then show me,” I gasped. “Act like it.”

I came with a cry I tried to swallow, nails digging into his shoulders. He wasn’t far behind, groaning against my chest, forehead pressed to my collarbone as he spilled into me.

We stayed tangled for a moment. Then I pulled away slowly, legs trembling as I adjusted my blouse and reached up to wipe the condensation from the window. Richard zipped his pants with methodical detachment.

“You’ll be late if you don’t go,” he said finally, not looking at me.

The next morning, HQ felt off the second I walked in. Phones were ringing nonstop. Aides moved like fire had been lit under them. I hadn’t even reached the kitchen for coffee before Nathan found me.

“You’re going to the east border this afternoon,” he said, low and urgent. “Major Ellis requested a private liaison meeting. Wouldn’t go through the council.”

I blinked. “Why me?”

“You’re the one Richard trusts,” he replied, then disappeared down the hall.

I didn’t ask more. I packed light and drove alone. The outpost near the Silverpine eastern border was little more than a wired shack with encrypted comms and a reinforced door. Ellis stood waiting with a grim look on his face, arms crossed, scent wary.

“Militia activity’s rising,” he said before I even stepped fully inside. “Rogue vampires. Small cells, moving near the boundary line. Intel says they’re watching your campaign, looking for fractures.”

“They think we’re vulnerable,” I said, flipping open my notepad.

He nodded. “They’re right. You’ve had leaks. Internal tension. They’re hoping to ride that unrest straight through our defenses.”

“Do we know how many?”

“Not exact numbers. But enough to matter. Enough to get attention if they push too hard.”

I wrote everything down, coordinates, behavior patterns, phrases he’d intercepted. The language was organized. Precise. This wasn’t random chaos. This was planning.

Back at HQ, I went straight to Richard. We shut ourselves in his office and didn’t come out for hours. We rebuilt the campaign’s safety statement from scratch, calculated, steady, sharp without sounding alarmist.

We didn’t touch. Barely looked at each other. But our movements were synchronized. Our edits passed between us like breath.

When we finished, we submitted it through the secure channel.

And the next morning, a completely different version went live.

It was vague. Watered down. Useless. Council panic flared by midmorning. The phones wouldn’t stop ringing.

I stormed into Nathan’s office.

“Who else had access to the draft?” I demanded.

He didn’t hesitate. Just handed me a printed log.

My name. Richard’s. Emma. Tasha. The comms manager.

And at the bottom, Jason.

Jason, who wasn’t supposed to have access to anything. Jason, who had burned bridges and betrayed allegiances. Jason, whose name should’ve been deleted.

I stared at the page. Fury spread through me like fire under skin.

I folded the list, tucked it into my jacket pocket, and left the room without another word.

Enough tiptoeing. Enough secrets.

I was going to find out how far this sabotage went.

And I was going to bury him for it.