Father always told us patience was a virtue when we were younger. To be clouded by emotions and rush into situations without properly planning were actions of idiotic, dead men.

Patience had always been something Lionel excelled at. He knew how to bide his time, to move with purpose, to wait for the right moment to strike. I always tried to follow his lead, but it never came as naturally to me. Maybe I was too impatient, or maybe it was the fire that burned inside me, the need to act, to see things unfold in front of me instead of waiting for them to settle into place.

According to Francis, Dad's right-hand man, I was a lot like Mom in that regard. Too hotheaded for my own good. I didn't know or remember a lot about Mom, but that comment always grated me; it pushed me to try and conform to Dad's standards when I was younger.

For a while, it seemed as though it was working but as I sat in Wesley's cardboard box he called a room, I could feel that familiar fire rising.

I could hear her voice—Bridget, Wesley called her—sitting in his living room. It was strange, considering I'd done a considerable amount of research before choosing Wesley's home to hide at. He wasn't close to any of his coworkers. Friendly, but not close enough to the point of visiting one another on a random off day.

Had I known, I wouldn't be sitting in his room, hiding like a teenage boy hiding when his girlfriend's parents come home.

I listened closer. Her voice, calm and almost too smooth, filtered through the thin walls.

"I heard the rumors about your 'friend,'" she was saying, and there was a slight edge to her tone. "Is everything really okay with him?"

I furrowed my brows. "Friend?" I mouthed to myself, trying to piece together who she was talking about. Was she referring to me? No. That wasn't it.

Wesley's muffled response followed, laced with hesitation. "I... I don't know. I haven't seen him in a while."

Her next words came quickly, too quickly. "You're not getting mixed up in something dangerous, are you? You know that man's trouble, right?"

After an embarrassing amount of time, it dawned on me that she was referring to Boreal. Of course, she was. Wesley had said he'd shown up at his job, but that still didn't explain why Bridget felt the need to come to Wesley's house out of the blue. She heard rumors about Boreal and decided to come to check on Wesley out of the kindness of her heart. Sorry, I didn't buy it.

Everyone was out for themselves in one way or another and she wasn't the exception to that rule.

"I'm fine, Bridget," Wesley assured.

I couldn't see her face but the silence that followed was more than enough to tell me that Bridget wasn't convinced.

"If you weren't fine and needed help, would you tell me?" She questioned.

"Yeah," Wesley replied, but his tone lacked any conviction which made me laugh. Liar.

"What was that?" Bridget asked, making me cringe. Shit.

"What was what?" Wesley sputtered before quickly changing the subject. "Look, Bridget. I'm okay. You don't need to worry about me, really."

"But, it's just..." she sighed. "You're all alone."

She wasn't wrong. Wesley being alone was one of the primary reasons why I chose him. A dive into his past told me his family was practically nonexistent which made it easier to get close to him with minimal complications.

But, I could see why that would be concerning from a different perspective. No family, no friends, constantly working, and not to mention his debt. It was like he was speed-running life and heading straight to an early grave.

It was sad when I stopped to think about it.

"Bridget, I get it, okay? You're worried. But I'm not some lost cause. I've got things under control."

It was almost convincing. Almost.

"I'm just saying," Bridget replied, her tone softening but still persistent. "If you ever need someone to talk to... I'm here. You don't have to do everything on your own."

"Thanks," Wesley said, but something told me he wouldn't ever take her up on the offer.

There was a short pause followed by the sound of footsteps moving toward the door. Finally.

"Well," Bridget said, her voice a little brighter now, like she was trying to end on a high note. "Don't forget what I said, okay? And don't be a stranger."

The door opened and closed, and the faint sound of her footsteps faded down the hallway. I stayed still, listening for any sign she might come back, but the apartment fell silent.

Wesley didn't move for a long time. Then I heard him sigh—a long, heavy exhale that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

He walked into the bedroom and stopped short when he saw me sitting on the edge of his bed, arms crossed.

"Your coworker's persistent," I told him.

"She's just worried," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Are you two close?" I asked. I thought I knew the answer to that question already, but if I missed anything, I needed to know before it came back to bite me in the ass.

"We aren't." He shook his head.

"So there's nothing going on there?" I pushed and Wesley pulled a face, making me laugh. "What? Not your type?"

"We just work together," he muttered.

"So that's a no," I answered my own question.

Wesley shot me a look that was equal parts irritated and exhausted. "Yes, that's a no. Can we drop it now?"

"Touchy," I teased, leaning back on the bed. "Relax, I'm just making conversation."

"Do you go around to everyone you meet asking them what their type is? What if I asked you that?"

"I'd answer it." I shrugged. "No need to be embarrassed about something like that."

He scoffed. "You answer it then."

I tilted my head at him, smirking. "Alright. My type, huh?" I let the question hang in the air for a moment, watching his reaction. He didn't say anything, just crossed his arms and waited, which only made this more entertaining.

"Fine." I leaned back on my elbows. "I'm... flexible. Personality's a big deal. Confidence. Humor. You know, someone who can keep up."

Wesley raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "That's vague."

I grinned. "Alright, specifics then. I'm bisexual, but I'd say I lean toward men. Strong hands, good shoulders, maybe a little scruffy around the edges." I gestured lazily, amused by the way Wesley's eyebrows shot up. "But women? If they've got fire? Yeah, I'm into that too."

He blinked. "You like men?"

"Is that strange?" I amusedly questioned.

He shrugged. "It just wasn't what I expected from you."

"What did you expect then?"

He shrugged, a hint of color forming on his face. "Someone flashy I guess. Models, actresses, you know, the kind of people who make an impression just by walking into a room."

"I can see where you got that." I shrugged. "You're wrong, but I can see. Your turn now."

That familiar awkward expression formed on Wesley's face and he shook his head. "Nope," Wesley said, his voice firm as he crossed his arms. "Not happening."

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. "What, are you too shy to admit it? C'mon, we're having a perfectly harmless conversation here."

"It's not about being shy," he countered, his tone defensive. "I just don't think it's any of your business."

I tilted my head, my smirk widening. "Oh, so it's a secret then? Now I'm even more curious."

Wesley sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not a secret. I just don't really think about it, alright? I've been a little too busy trying to survive to have a 'type.'"

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me you've never thought about what you like? Never noticed someone and thought, 'Yeah, that's my thing?'"

He hesitated, his gaze darting away. "Not... really."

I studied him for a moment, the way his posture stiffened and his jaw tightened. "You're lying," I said bluntly.

Wesley shot me an exasperated look. "Why does it matter to you so much?"

"Is it a crime to be curious?" I questioned.

"Curiosity killed the cat," Wesley grumbled.

I stared into his blue eyes and smiled. "Satisfaction brought it back."

Wesley groaned, rubbing his temples as if the conversation was physically draining him. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I prefer persistent. It's one of my more charming qualities."

He shot me a look that said he wasn't buying it. "Charming isn't the word I'd use."

"Then enlighten me," I said, spreading my arms wide in mock invitation. "What word would you use to describe me, oh wise and reserved Wesley?"

"Annoying," he shot back without hesitation.

"I've been told I'm an acquired taste. I grow on people."

"Uh huh..." he agreed, unconvinced. "Weren't we meant to be talking about Bridget? Or Boreal? Or literally anything other than this conversation?"

"Touché," I admitted, leaning back with a grin. "But hey, you're the one who opened the door to this little tangent. Don't blame me for running with it."

Wesley shot me a flat look, but I could tell the irritation was starting to fade. "I opened the door? You practically kicked it down."

"Details, details," I said dismissively, waving a hand. "Now, back to Bridget—or Boreal, if you'd prefer. There's nothing going on between you and Bridget. Got it. But she sure seems to think she's your unofficial guardian angel."

"She's just concerned," Wesley muttered, glancing toward the door like he expected her to walk back in any second. "I told you, there's nothing more to it."

"Keep her at arm's length," I advised. Wesley instantly frowned and looked as if he were about to argue, so I added, "The more she knows, the more likely she is to get pulled into this mess and I know you don't want that. Not to mention, nobody here is your friend, Wesley. People switch the moment something better is offered to them. They only look out for themselves."

"Right." He looked down.

"Now that we have that understood, let's talk about—"

"What about you?" Wesley interrupted.

I raised an eyebrow at him, caught off guard. "What about me?"

"You said no one here is my friend, and people only look out for themselves." He crossed his arms, watching me intently. "So what about you? Are you going to use me and then betray me when I'm no longer useful? When there's no need for you to hide anymore?"

He stared at me with a slightly clenched jaw and a sharp glint in his eyes as he waited for an answer. I couldn't stop myself from scoffing at the question. It seemed like no matter what we did, it always circled to the same issue just phrased a slightly different way. I needed to kill all doubts in his mind, but that was clearly proving to be easier said than done.

It was an irritating thing, but above all else, I found it more maddening how the need to prove myself clawed to the surface whenever he said such words.

"I dislike repeating myself. It's a waste of time and energy," I admitted and leaned forward. "But let me say this one last time. If I wanted to betray you, I would've done so already. Am I using you? Yes, but are you not using me as well?" He didn't respond so I continued. "I'm no saint and I don't pretend to be, but I have no intention of killing you or using you as a scapegoat when you're no longer useful to me. I like to think I'm a little more... considerate than that. You uphold your side of the deal and I will do the same. Even if you doubt everything I've said up to this point, you can believe that."

He continued to stare at me for a moment, not saying anything. It was as if he were looking by for something, so, instead of turning away, I held his gaze and let him find whatever he needed to see.

After a few moments, he finally dropped down beside me and sighed. "Okay."

"'Okay?'" I repeated.

He turned his head and those ocean eyes settled onto my chocolate-brown ones. "I don't fully believe you, but...until you give me a reason not to, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Benefit of the doubt, huh?" I tested the words. "I'll take it. For now."

Wesley didn't respond immediately, but his eyes seemed to soften just the slightest bit as if something in him had shifted, even if just a little. He leaned back against the headboard and asked, "What now? My next meeting with Boreal is in two weeks. What are you going to do until then?"

That was an easy question. "We are going to gather intel."

It took a moment for the words to reach him and fully process, but once they did, Wesley turned to me with a frown and a resigned yet apprehensive tone, he asked, "'We?'"