Page 138 of Override

Matt's expression doesn't change. "Being right isn't enough."

The hope disappears just as quickly.

"If you walk into that house today," he continues, "what do we tell the police?"

I don't answer. Because I already know.

"What crime has Ronan committed?"

"He—"

"Does he control her? Isolate her? Track her? Yes." Matt leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "And every bit of it makes me sick." His voice drops. "But it doesn't give us the legal right to take another man's wife."

The truth hits harder than I want it to. "If you're wrong..." He doesn't finish. He doesn't have to.

"I go to prison."

"You go to prison." He nods. "Grayline dies." He pauses. "And Maeve is left exactly where she is."

Silence settles between us. The computers hum. A cooling fan spins somewhere behind me. Outside the office window, Rachel laughs at something Wheels says. Life keeps moving.

Mine feels like it's stopped.

"I don't know how to sit here." The words scrape their way out of my throat.

Matt stands and walks over, resting a hand on the back of my neck the same way he did after bad missions overseas. "I know." His grip tightens for just a second. "And that's exactly why I'm asking you to."

After he leaves, the office feels impossibly quiet.

I lower myself back into the chair and stare at another failed exploit. Another locked door. Another reminder that somewhere behind a firewall I can no longer breach...Maeve is alone.

And for the first time since I found her...I have absolutely no way to get back to her.

****

At some point during the night, exhaustion finally wins.

I don't remember closing my eyes. I don't remember deciding the couch in the Grayline office was good enough for another night.

I only remember telling myself I'd rest for twenty minutes.

That had been... hours ago.

The glow from the monitors is the only light left in the room, washing everything in muted shades of blue. Half-finished coffee cups crowd the desk beside three untouched protein bars that someone—Rachel, probably—had quietly left for me sometime this afternoon.

I still haven't eaten them. I haven't gone home either. Bullet dropped off a change of clothes yesterday morning. Wheels tried convincing me to shower by telling me I smelled like "stress and bad decisions."

Rachel hugged me. Sloane stole my laptop charger until I agreed to drink water.

Matt…Matt stopped trying to convince me to leave. Instead, he'd started bringing me new cases to work.

Anything to keep my hands busy. Anything except the one thing I actually wanted to do.

Sleep finds me somewhere between another failed exploit and another cup of cold coffee.

I don't know how long I'm out. Minutes. Maybe an hour.

"Taibhse." The whisper slips into my dream so naturally I almost don't notice it.