PART 23:

A man standing at a counter. Purchased three days ago. A shop on Pike. This is the buyer. Nolan looked at the image. The man was young, mid-20s, hood up, profile half visible. Enough. Who is he? Michael opened another window. A profile assembled from public records, arrest logs, university registration. Elias Davis, 26, Stanford, sociology, class of 2022, three arrests, campus demonstrations, two in California, one here.

He kept his eyes on the screen. He’s one of three people who coordinate Oversight’s operations. Nolan was quiet for a moment, looking at the photograph. Stanford. He didn’t say it out loud. “If you give the order,” Michael said, “I can have him located in a few hours.” Nolan straightened.

“Don’t move on this until I tell you.” He walked to the door, then to the staircase. His steps were measured going up, not slow, not fast. The steps of a man who already knows what floor he’s going to. She was pulling the door shut behind her when she saw him. Nolan was at the end of the corridor, moving toward her. Steady, deliberate, the particular quality of someone who had already decided on the destination.

Mara’s stomach pulled tight. Guilt or him? She didn’t know anymore. He stopped in front of her. One hand came up and moved through her hair, slow, his eyes on her face the whole time. “How are you, Mara?” She looked at him. At the green of his eyes, which were doing something she hadn’t seen before, something warmer than his usual register and less controlled.

“I’m the one who should be asking you that.” “Come inside.” He closed the door. When Mara turned to face him, her eyes went straight to his, the green of them, the particular depth she’d been trying not to look at directly. And for a moment, that was the only thing in the room. Nolan saw her looking. He crossed to her in one step and put his arms around her.

His mouth pressed against the top of her head. And then his voice came low, close, just for the space between them. “If something had happened to you, I would never forgive myself.” His chest was solid against her cheek. She could feel his heartbeat, faster than the rest of him let on. “I can’t lose you, too, Mara.

” Her eyes filled. She pressed her hands flat against his back and held on. Two, she thought, that single word carrying five years of weight. Nolan. Her voice came muffled against his shirt. I have to tell you something. He pulled back. His hands stayed on her shoulders. He was looking at her face the way he looked at things he intended to understand completely.

I It’s about the drone. I know who did it. Her throat tightened. Elias. The one heading oversight. We were at Stanford together. He called me and I Nolan’s thumb came to her lips. The contact moved through her before she understood what it was. Her spine registered it first. That particular alertness. Instant. And involuntary.

His eyes stayed on hers, steady, reading whatever her face was doing that she couldn’t control. His thumb moved across her lower lip. Barely there. The way it had been before. The way it kept being. You know? She whispered. He nodded once. His hand dropped from her mouth to her jaw and the backs of his fingers moved along her cheekbone.

Slow. The last of an evening she wasn’t ready to end. Rest tonight. His voice was low. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow. He was turning toward the door when her hand closed around his arm. Nolan. He stopped. Turned back slowly. The way you turn when you already know what you’ll see. And see it anyway. She was breathing faster.

A heat had started somewhere below her ribs and hadn’t stopped moving up. She kept her eyes on his. Do you Do you feel something for me? His mouth moved. That small version, the corner, the one that never fully committed. His eyes were steady on hers. “If I didn’t,” he murmured, “you wouldn’t be in this house.

” Mara reached up, slowly, giving him every second to step back. He didn’t. She pressed her lips to his, soft, tentative, her hands flat against his chest. He went still, not pulling away, not closing in, just absorbing it the way a man absorbs something he has decided to receive carefully. She pulled back half an inch.

The space between them was warm now, warmer than the room. His eyes were on her face, that steady, particular attention that had always felt like being the only thing in the room worth looking at. She pressed her lips to his again, a little longer. His hands found her waist, not gripping, settling. His thumbs pressing into the curve above her hips, a deliberate weight.

She felt the breath she’d been holding finally leave her chest, then her mouth moved to the side of his throat. “Mara.” Her name came out rough from somewhere underneath the control, the register she hadn’t heard before, the voice that didn’t get to speak often. He pulled her in. His mouth came back to hers, not soft this time, the kind of kiss that had been held behind everything, the quiet evenings, the careful distance, the particular way he had of looking at her mouth and then looking away.

One hand moved to the back of her neck, tilting her head, pressing her closer. The heat of him burned through her shirt, through her skin, settled somewhere low and specific that she was not going to think about yet. When his mouth moved to the curve of her jaw, the side of her throat, the place just below her ear, her hands had found their way to the back of his neck.

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