I checked the logs again, obsessive. I ran the names. I ran the security stack until the IT department pinged me and asked if I was getting paranoid. I answered honestly: “Yes.”
I timed lunch so I’d catch Calvin alone. He’d just closed a call, voice still echoing with the tail end of a pitch. “You’re stalking me,” he said.
“You said I’m the target. Explain.”
He didn’t look up. “You want me to say it? Fine. The board’s betting on your restraint. They don’t believe you can keep your shit together with Eliza around. They want to see you under fire. You pull out now, it looks bad. For everyone.”
He paused. “And someone’s testing her, too. Maybe the same someone. Maybe not.”
I ran my hand over my jaw, a small gesture, but enough to break the surface tension. “Who benefits if she fails?”
Calvin shrugged. “Not me. Not you. But there’s plenty who think she’s in over her head. Maybe some old-guard who wanted the slot for themselves. Maybe someone she beat for the job.”
I considered the list. There were names. Always names. Always motives.
So I texted Eliza:Call me if you want a shield.
No response. Not for an hour, not for the rest of the day. I worked late. I told myself it was because I needed to get ahead of the next move, the next glitch, the next goddamn landmine. I didn’t admit, even to myself, that I was waiting for her to walk in and throw something, words, files, a sharp heel, at my head. But the door stayed closed.
The office cleared out around five. And when night fell, I was the only one left in the office besides the cleaning crew. I heard them in the distance. I spun in my chair, watched the city lights blur through the glass. I pulled up her file. Looked at her projects, her timelines, her digital footprint. It wasn’t stalking, not really. It was reconnaissance. I was trying to find the threat before it found her.
But I knew, already, I knew, she wouldn’t want my protection. She’d hate me for it. She’d see it as an insult. But what if I was wrong? What if this time, she actually needed it?
That thought was the one that stuck. That, and the memory of her voice when she said my name last, acid-edged and perfect.
“Gabriel.”
It echoed in my mind.
I closed my laptop. Stared at the screen, waiting for something to change, as if willpower alone could do the trick. But nothing did. Not for the rest of the night.
*
We shared the conference table the next morning, both of us pretending to focus on the swirl of graphs and slides, the glow of blue light on glass. She looked like she hadn’t slept either, but the effect was different on her. If anything, it sharpened her: the lines of her jaw, the way her eyes tracked every movement in the room. Her hair was down today, and that detail, so minor, nearly split my concentration.
I watched her work, hands steady on the trackpad, every line of her body announcing she was over it. Over me. Or so it looked to anyone who didn’t know what to look for. I’d memorized her tells. The controlled breath before she replied toa stupid question. The tic of her heel, barely grazing the floor. The way she chewed her lip when she wanted to say something cruel but didn’t.
She didn’t look at me. Not once.
On the screen, her model was immaculate. Every projection nailed, every outlier accounted for. There was no trace of the “glitch” that had almost wrecked her last deliverable. But if you looked closer, you could see it: a shadow of extra caution in every word, every bullet point. She was protecting herself, fortifying every angle so nothing could be twisted against her.
I understood it now. The silence wasn’t anger. It was strategy. A shield.
The meeting adjourned. Everyone filed out, some glancing back at her with a blend of awe and low-key resentment. I stayed seated, waited until the room emptied.
“You crushed it,” I said.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t give me even that.
“Next time someone tries to kneecap you,” I added, “maybe let me know before you torch your own code.”
This got a response: a small, sharp laugh, equal parts surprise and disgust. “What are you, my babysitter now?”
“Apparently.”
Her eyes finally met mine. No heat, just analysis. “You’re wasting your time. I’m not the one who needs saving.”
I wanted to say, Maybe I am, but even I wasn’t that self-pitying.