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“The same life you see as sad and pathetic.”

He lifted a brow. “Is this the philosophical bullshit that you read in the library every day, Bella?”

“No.” I chuckled, my eyes falling to my lap. “I lived this life to learn it.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he said honestly.

“And that’s okay.” I smiled. “I used to be like you once. What I’m trying to say is, stop blaming yourself. If you were to die tomorrow, you will, and so will I if it’s my time to go. You can’t stop it. But if you accept it, then right here, right now, this moment will be more beautiful. More free. Yes, you live a hard life, but you live it only because you can.”

For a moment, he just stared at me before he slowly said, “You’re weird. You know that, right?”

My lips tugged into a rare grin. “I’d rather be esoteric than ordinary,” I jested.

He rolled his eyes, but a slight smile tugged at his lips as his gaze shifted over to the footage playing in front of us. “Do you mind if I leave this to you?”

“Not at all,” I said.

“Great.” He stood, stretching his neck. “I’ll be working right there,” he mumbled, already walking toward his workstation in the corner of the room. My eyes remained on him. Did he really trust me enough to leave me here unguarded, or was this all a part of his game?

Do you really care at this point? My conscience sneered at me. I guess I didn’t.

Sighing, I turned back to the laptop and placed it a good foot away. Digital screens made me sick for some reason, which was why I didn’t own a phone, but unfortunately, it was the only way to watch CCTV video.

An hour later, my head was almost breaking in half when I finally found something. I quickly moved the laptop away and jumped to my feet, heading to the balcony. I quietly slipped outside and closed the door behind me, breathing in the freezing salty air, which surprisingly did wonders for the nausea churning in my chest.

Funny how, only days ago, I was jumping down this balcony as an intruder. Now I was a guest, enjoying the view. By the time I made it inside, I was bone cold, and my headache was a dull throb in my temples. Arkane was still buried deep in his work as I crept to his side.

“What is that?” I asked, leaning my hip against his table as I watched his hand move with skilled precision, along with the sharp concentration in his eyes.

“It’s an advanced trigger mechanism I’ve been working on for a while,” he muttered, his eyes darting to mine. “Were you able to find something?”

“Hmm, yes.”

“What is it?” he asked, dropping his work as we both walked over to the couch, where Buddy slept soundly.

I pressed the play button on the laptop. “Here.” I pointed at the footage of Timothy Walters’s stolen car speeding down the NT 14 toward the city edge. The vehicle, almost looking drunk, swerved left and right, suggesting some kind of altercation, before it crashed straight into the median.

Arkane frowned. “What—”

“Keep watching.” I gestured. The next scene was a billow of smoke rising from the car, with the lights blinking haphazardly. A lone door cracked open, and Timothy Walters crawled out, a thin line of blood falling from his forehead. He was gripping a steel briefcase to his chest as he wobbled to his feet. By then, the cars behind him had crowded the entire road, blocking the freeway.

Despite people starting to crowd the accident scene, Timothy Walters showed no concern for anyone, as he pushed past them and ran across the road.

“You see this car?” I pointed at a purple Chevy blocking the cameras at the edge of the forest line, toward which Timothy Walters disappeared.

“What about it?” Arkane questioned.

“I suspected Timothy Walters must’ve exchanged the package with someone. It’s very hard to see, but right at this moment.” I pointed at Timothy Walters, blurring toward the forest, and paused it. “It’s barely visible, but you can see he’s not holding anything here.”

“So whoever was in that car took it.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Not sure how they exchanged it, but they did.” And suspiciously so, right after Timothy Walters ran into the forest, the Chevy sped away. It was the only car to leave while everyone else was focused on pulling Marcus out of the accident.

Arkane was already on a call with Mikhail, discussing the matter while I waited.

“The plate isn’t tied to anyone,” he muttered. “But the car did stop at a gas station. Mikhail is sending me the footage now.”

None of us spoke a word as we watched the Chevy slow down at a gas station and the driver’s side burst open. A man in his early forties climbed out, lowering his beanie as his gaze swept back and forth before he limped heavily toward the cashier, and I knew right then who he was.