Sophia.

It’s been days since the cartel’s arrest, and yet, there’s no relief for either of us.

In many ways, the weight of the world has been lifted, yet not in the way that matters most to Laurel.

We’ve been combing through files for hours—sometimes days—but each file we go through seems to lead nowhere. None of them mention Emily.

None of them point to her whereabouts. There are other children, other victims, some released to their families and some not. But no trace of her.

I can feel Laurel’s panic rising, even if she tries to hide it. The subtle tremor in her hands when she reaches for a file.

The way her eyes dart nervously around the room when she looks up from the screen.

The hollow look that settles in her gaze whenever she shuts the file in frustration, knowing that no matter how many times she flips through the same paperwork, it’s all meaningless.

I don’t know what to do. I can’t fix this for her. I can’t pull her sister out of thin air. All I can do is stand by her, even when everything seems to be crumbling.

I watch her in silence, unsure how to reach her, how to pull her from the despair that’s consuming her.

Every day, it feels like she’s slipping further away, lost in the fog of uncertainty. Emily’s face—the face of the sister she’s been searching for—is a constant ghost in Laurel’s mind, haunting her every moment.

But there are moments when the weight of it all becomes too much. When I can see the cracks. She doesn’t say it out loud, but I know her.

I know her better than anyone else, even after everything. And I can tell—she’s falling apart.

She tries to be strong, to keep her composure, but it’s slipping. Her shoulders droop, her voice catches when she talks about Emily. The anger that once burned so fiercely in her has turned into something softer.

The desperation has turned to quiet devastation, and I don’t know how to help her anymore.

I can only watch as she sits, eyes glued to the computer screen, scrolling through endless files of names, dates, and records—none of them Emily’s.

I don’t know how much more of this she can take.

It’s on one of these long nights, when Laurel’s barely holding it together, that I decide I need to pull her out of this.

Just for a few hours. A break. A moment of something that isn’t about Emily, about the case, about all of it.

I know she won’t do it on her own. She’s too stubborn. So I make the decision for her.

I tell her we’re going out. I don’t ask. I just tell her. It’s a command, soft and firm, something I know she’ll listen to.

At first, she protests. Of course, she does.

Laurel’s never one to give up on something once she’s started. But I can see the tension in her jaw, the frustration in her eyes as she rubs at her temples.

She’s exhausted.

So, after a few minutes of arguing, she finally agrees. We head out.

I take her to a little restaurant—a quiet place that feels a world away from everything. A place where we can sit and talk, where no one knows us, where I can remind her of what it feels like to be free.

Freedom.

The one thing we’ve both craved for so long, and now it’s ours, and yet... here we are, still bound by the past.

We order drinks, appetizers, the kind of food that makes everything feel like it doesn’t matter. We talk.

Well, she talks.

I mostly listen. She tells me about the files she’s been going through. She talks about her work before all of this, about her history with her sister.

She talks about the things that weigh on her, even when she tries to keep them at bay.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her laugh in days. It’s almost like I’m seeing the woman I met all those months ago, the one who was so sure of herself, the one who was fearless.

For the first time in ages, it feels like we can breathe.

When we finish dinner, we walk through the city streets. The air is cool, the world buzzing.

It’s the kind of atmosphere that makes you forget all your problems. For a few moments.

We stop near a park bench. The lights shimmer in the distance. It's calm.

“I should be working,” Laurel mutters, running a hand through her hair. “I should be going through the files.”

I shake my head. “No,” I say, gently pulling her back toward the bench. “You don’t have to do that right now. You’ve been working non-stop. You deserve a break. Just for tonight.”

She looks at me, her expression softening. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes, one that she rarely lets anyone see. But I see it.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze flickers to mine.

I look away, because if I don’t, I’m afraid I might say something I’m not sure I’m ready to say. But then she reaches for my hand, and everything feels clear.

I squeeze her hand, pulling her closer. “You won’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

There’s a pause between us, a beat where the world seems to stop turning, and then she leans in, brushing her lips against mine.

It’s nothing like the fiery kisses we’ve shared before. This one is soft, patient. It’s the kind of kiss that says everything without needing to say a word.

When we pull away, I don’t know what to do with myself. My heart’s beating too fast, my head spinning. But I can’t stop myself from smiling.

“I love you,” I whisper, my voice thick with the emotion I’ve kept hidden for so long.

Laurel stares at me for a long moment, her eyes wide, searching mine. There’s no disbelief in her gaze—just a soft recognition.

“I think you already know how I feel about you, Sophia,” she says finally, her voice gruff. “I didn’t know it was possible. But...”

I squeeze her hand. “I know. I’m not going anywhere, Laurel. We’re in this together.”

She nods, and I can see the relief in her eyes.

We stay like that for a while, sitting in the quiet of the night.

I don't know what comes next after this but I am ready for it. I'm ready to put my guard down for this goddamn woman.