Laurel
...

My phone lights up for the tenth time today. Sophia's name flashes on the screen, and my heart does that stupid flip-flop thing before I can stop it.

I turn the phone face-down, focusing on the files spread across my desk.

Intelligence reports. Surveillance photos. Months of carefully gathered evidence about the cartel's operations. Somewhere in this mess is the key to finding Emily, and I can't afford distractions.

I can't afford to think about soft lips tasting soda and popcorn or the way Sophia's hands trembled when she cupped my face, or—

"Focus," I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars.

My recording app sits accusingly open on my phone. I've been making voice notes about the investigation since the beginning – helps me organize my thoughts, track patterns. But lately, the recordings have become... compromised.

I hit play, wincing at the sound of my own voice.

"Field notes, April. Subject displayed unusual emotional vulnerability following suspected termination of relationship with unknown male associate. Possible opening for intelligence gathering, but—" A pause, a shaky breath.

"But I couldn't do it. Couldn't push for information when she was crying. When she trusted me enough to lean on me during that stupid movie. God, Emy, what am I doing? The way she looked at me before she kissed me, like... I should have pushed her away sooner. Should have—"

I slam the delete button, watching it disappear. I can't leave evidence like that lying around. I can't admit, even to myself, how much that kiss got to me.

Emily's photo watches me from its place on my board, cosy among the surveillance shots and newspaper clippings. She looks so young in that picture, caught mid-laugh at last year's Christmas dinner. Before she stumbled onto whatever...

"I'm doing this for you," I tell her photo, but her frozen smile seems judgmental now. Like she knows I'm letting my heart interfere with the mission.

My phone buzzes again – a text this time.

Sophia: Please talk to me. I'm sorry about what happened. Can we just forget it?

"No," I whisper to my empty room. "We can't."

Because forgetting would mean forgetting the way she felt in my arms at the theater. It would mean forgetting how my body responded to her kiss before my brain kicked in, how for one crazy moment I wanted to kiss her back.

I pull up the surveillance photos instead. Sophia leaving work, climbing into that sleek black car. Her "aunt" Dana, who carries herself like someone trained in close protection. The expensive clothes, the burner phones, the pattern of movements that screams cartel operation.

Sophia is my way to Emily. I know this. Have known it since forever. She's a lead, an asset, a means to an end.

Not a girl with sad eyes and a smile that makes my chest ache.

I grab my recorder again. "Field notes, April. Subject continues normal pattern of behavior at work. No contact with ex boyfriend noted. Dana maintains regular pickup schedule, though security protocols appear to have increased following—"

I stop, delete and try again.

"Field notes. Surveillance continues. Subject appears...emotional state potentially vulnerable, which could provide opportunity for..."

Delete.

My voice is too raw, too weak.

"Dammit, Emy" I mutter, staring at her photo. "You never warned me it could be like this. That sometimes the people you're investigating turn out to be..." Beautiful. Broken. Real.

My phone lights up with another message. I shouldn't look, but my hand moves without my permission.

Sophia: I miss you.

Three words, and they hit me like a bad blow to the mouth.

I miss her too. I miss her stupid jokes about demanding customers, miss the way she hums under her breath while packing and organizing shelves.

But missing her isn't part of the mission. Finding Emily is.

I pull up the recording app on my laptop, where I keep my more detailed notes.

"Operation status update," I start, trying to keep my voice professional. "Subject's emotional vulnerability presents advantages, but..." I swallow hard. "But operational integrity may be compromised by... by..."

By the fact that I'm falling for her. By the way my hands shake when I think about what will happen when I finally get enough evidence. By how much it's going to destroy her when she realizes I was using her all along.

I slam the laptop closed, but Emy's eyes follow me as I pace the room.

"I know," I tell her. "I know I'm screwing this up. But you don't understand. You didn't see her face when she kissed me. Didn't feel how desperately she held on, like she was drowning and I was the only solid thing in reach."

The photo doesn't answer. Just keeps smiling, reminding me why I'm here. What's at stake.

My phone buzzes one final time.

Sophia: I understand if you hate me. Just... I won't bother you anymore. Hope you're happy.

I stare at the message until the screen goes dark. Happy? Really?

"I have to finish this," I tell Emily's photo. "I need to find you. Even if it means..."

Even if it means breaking both our hearts.

I pick up my phone one last time. "Investigation proceeding as planned. No compromise to report. End log."

The lie is bitter, but it's better than the truth. Better than admitting that every time my phone lights up with her name, I remember the taste of popcorn and soda, and the way she whispered, "I'm sorry" like she was apologizing for more than just a kiss.

But I have to get back to words and  pretend my heart doesn't race when I think about her.

Be happy, she said.

I wish I could tell her the same even when I know happiness to people like us is all but an illusion.

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