Page 85 of All The Pretty Little Lies

"I've got this," I tell him. "You look like hell. Go get some rest."

Alex ignores my suggestion, grabbing a box of his precious tech. His eyes narrow as he peers inside, and I brace myself for the inevitable tirade.

"Jesus, Talon, did you just throw everything in here like a goddamn caveman?" He pulls out a tangle of wires, his face contorting in horror. "This is delicate equipment, not your dirty gym socks!"

I roll my eyes, hefting another box onto my shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry, princess. Next time we're fleeing a potential mafia war, I'll be sure to pack your toys with silk pillows and rose petals."

Alex mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "Neanderthal" as we make our way to the elevator. The doors slide open with a soft ping, and we step inside. The ascent to our penthouse is smooth, but the tension in the air is palpable.

"So," I begin, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence, "where'd you get the idea for that liquid nitrogen stunt? That was creative, to say the least."

A ghost of a smile flickers across Alex's face, a welcome change from his earlier scowl. "Believe it or not, I saw a video about making ice cream with liquid nitrogen. Got me thinking about other applications."

I can't help but laugh, the sound echoing in the confined space of the elevator. "Only you could watch a cooking video and turn it into a torture method. Remind me never to piss you off when you're in the kitchen."

Alex grins, some of the weariness lifting from his features. "Please, as if I'd waste good nitrogen on your sorry ass. You'd get the dollar store version, maybe some ice cubes down your pants."

The elevator doors open, and we step into the luxurious penthouse. The open-plan living area is bathed in the soft morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. In any other circumstance, the view of the city skyline would be breathtaking. Today, it just makes me feel exposed.

We make our way to the tech room, Alex's personal sanctuary filled with more screens and gadgets than a NASA control center. As we set down the boxes, I can't help but notice the way his hands linger on each piece of equipment, checking for damage.

"You know," I say, leaning against the doorframe, "for a guy who just turned a man's ass into a popsicle, you're awfully precious about your toys."

Alex shoots me a withering look. "These 'toys' are what keep us alive and off the grid. A little respect wouldn't kill you."

I raise my hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I bow to your superior nerd knowledge. Just don't expect me to start treating your laptops like Fabergé eggs."

He snorts, already engrossed in setting up one of his monitors. "As if you even know what a Fabergé egg is."

"I'll have you know I'm very cultured," I retort, puffing out my chest in mock indignation. "I've seen 'Anastasia' at least twice."

Alex's laugh is genuine this time, a welcome sound after the tension of the past few hours. "Right, because an animated movie is the pinnacle of historical accuracy. Next, you'll be telling me you're an expert on Russian history because you've played Tetris."

I can't help but grin. "Hey, those falling blocks taught me everything I need to know about efficient packing. How do you think I got all your precious gear in the car so fast?"

"Oh, is that why my hard drives are stacked like Jenga pieces?" Alex quips, raising an eyebrow as he pulls out a precariously balanced tower of equipment.

Our banter continues as we unpack, the familiar rhythm of our friendship providing a much-needed distraction from the gravity of our situation. But even as we joke, I can't shake the nagging feeling of unease that's settled in my gut.

"Alex," I say, my tone suddenly serious, "I need you to run a full security sweep. Check for any breaches, any unusual activity in the past 48 hours. If Mario’s involved, we can't be too careful."

Alex nods, his fingers already flying across one of his keyboards. "On it. I'll set up additional firewalls and reroute our digital footprint through a few more proxy servers. It'll slow down our connection, but it'll make us harder to trace."

I clap him on the shoulder, grateful for his expertise. "Good man. I'm going to do a perimeter check, make sure we're locked down tight."

As I leave Alex to his digital fortress, I can't help but feel a twinge of envy. His digital world of code is so much more straightforward than the mess of emotions and loyalties we're dealing with in the real world.

I make my way through the penthouse, checking each window and door, assessing the locks and security systems. It's a routine I've performed countless times, but today it feels different. More urgent. More necessary.

As I pass by Oscar's room, I pause. The door is slightly ajar, and I can't resist peeking inside. The sight that greets me sends a jolt through my system.

Vesper lies on the bed, her golden hair spread out on the pillow like a halo. She looks peaceful in sleep, the worry lines that have marred her forehead for days finally smoothed out. But it's not just her presence that catches my attention.

Oscar sits in a chair pulled close to the bed, his hand gently holding Vesper's. His thumb traces small circles on her skin, a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache.

Zaire stands at the foot of the bed, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by a look of fierce protectiveness. His eyes never leave Vesper's face, as if he's afraid she might disappear if he looks away for even a second. The scar on his neck stands out starkly against his pale skin, a reminder of the dangers we face every day in this life.

I linger in the doorway, unable to tear my gaze away from the scene before me. There's an intimacy to it that makes me feel like an intruder, yet I can't bring myself to leave. The way Oscar and Zaire orbit around Vesper, even in her sleep, speaks volumes about the depth of their feelings for her.

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