Maya knew that one day — one day, Lance would push her away for good.

  One day, he would walk away before she ever got the chance to stop him.

  Because Lance wasn’t the kind of man who stayed.

  He was the kind of man who left before things got too real.

  And yet—

  She still wanted him.

  Even knowing that she could never truly have him.

  Even knowing that he would always choose the job over her.

  Even knowing that she would be the one left behind.

  She still wanted him.

  And he still let her have just enough to make her stay.

  The precinct was quieter than usual, yet the air hummed with an unspoken tension. The case had consumed all of them, but Maya felt the weight of something else—something more personal.

  After that incident at the office, they didn’t talk about it.

  Lance was the same as always—focused, methodical, shutting the world out.

  Maya sat at the table, pretending like her mind wasn’t replaying last night—the way his hands had gripped her hips, the way his breath had ghosted over her skin —

  “Agent Carter?”

  Lance’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp as a blade. He was always careful to address her as Carter. It was always Agent Carter and never Maya.

  Maya’s pulse spiked.

  His expression was unreadable, but his eyes told her everything.

  At one point, Lance handed her a report, his fingers brushing hers for just a second.

  Maya flinched like she had been burned.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  They were playing with fire.

  And one day, it would burn them alive.

  For the first time in a long time, he wished she would look at him the way she used to.

  But she didn’t.

  As the days stretched on, Lance became even more withdrawn and distracted. At first, she had chalked it up to exhaustion; they were all running on fumes. The way he lingered in thought, how his responses became slower, his presence more ghost than man.

  And then, Lance disappeared.

  He hadn’t called, hadn’t checked in. Not a trace of him.

  She had searched his desk, his usual haunts, combed through his case files—nothing.

  Then she found it.

  Her gaze fell upon a folded note left by Lance. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. Inside, there was no explanation—just a series of cryptic numbers written in his sharp, precise handwriting.

  Maya’s pulse slowed.

  It wasn’t random. Lance had left it for her to find.

  Lance had known he might lose.

  So, Lance left behind a trail.

  A backup plan.

  Maya snatched the note and sprinted down the hallway, determination pounding in her chest.

  "Alright, let’s go over this again," Maya said, her voice steady but firm. Cursor adjusted his glasses and Sarge leaned in.

  She slammed the note onto the table.

  “What is this?” Cursor asked, peering over her shoulder.

  Maya’s mind raced. “It has to mean something… a message, a code.”

  Sarge frowned. “Think he left it for us?”

  Cursor snapped his fingers. “Wait. What if it’s a password?”

  Maya’s heart pounded. “To what?”

  Cursor quickly typed the numbers into the secure access field of Lance’s encrypted case notes journal. The system processed for a moment, then—

  ACCESS GRANTED.

  Lines of text filled the screen. Pages upon pages of Lance’s private investigation notes. The clues. The patterns. His suspicions.

  Maya scanned the entries, her blood running cold.

  Maya pulled up the case files, scanning through every victim’s last call.

  And there it was. The final connection.

  Maya flipped through images of Eleanor Vance’s paintings. She tapped the one that haunted her the most—the angel, caught mid-transformation, its wings breaking apart, mouth frozen in a silent scream. The more she stared at it, the more it seemed less like a painting and more like a warning.

  Cursor frowned. "The Apex Mental Health Initiative logo…"

  "Exactly," Maya said. "It wasn’t just about the paintings—there is some sort of connection between the victims. And that connection? The hotline."

  Sarge let out a low grunt. "We already knew they all made a call before they died. That’s not enough to say that the AI was involved."

  "It is if we know what they talked about," Maya countered.

  Cursor looked between them, his fingers already flying over his tablet. "If the counseling Ai logged all these conversations, the transcripts have to be archived in the company’s servers. We just need access."

  Sarge let out a heavy breath, rubbing his face. "We break into Apex Mental Health’s system, and that’s a damn war with corporate security. If they find out, we won’t just have the AI after us—we’ll have the company breathing down our necks."

  "Then we don’t let them find out," Maya said. "Lance went dark all of a sudden. We don’t know why, but I’m not waiting around to see another one of us end up like Raq."

  She leaned forward, her voice quieter but sharper. "We need those transcripts."

  The team exchanged glances. No one argued.

  Maya's heart pounded with fear.

  The last trail left by Lance had given them a new path.