Page 52 of Code Name: Admiral

17

ALICE

While Pershing made the arrangements for Grit’s visit, I decided to set up my meditation space in the bedroom.Ourbedroom. The thought made my stomach flutter. A few days ago, I’d been alone in the city, planning revenge. Now, I was sharing not just a bed but my days with this man who’d crashed into my world and turned it upside down.

I carefully unpacked my ritual items, each of which carried memories of how I’d acquired them. The zafu cushion was a gift from Sarah—she’d had it custom made in my favorite shade of deep purple. The crystals, I’d collected over the years, and like those in my workspace, each one was chosen for its specific properties and energy. Some came from tiny metaphysical shops tucked away in corners of the city, others from online sellers I’d carefully vetted.

I placed the cushion near the window, where morning light would stream in, positioning crystals in a protective circle around it. The familiar ritual of arranging a sacred space helped ground me even as uncertainty swirled around us. My hands trembled, more from anticipation than anxiety, as I lit a stick of sage, letting its cleansing smoke drift through the room. Thescent immediately transported me back to the first time I’d introduced Sarah to smudging. Like all the others, the memory was bittersweet.

“That smells nice,” Pershing said from the doorway.

He stepped closer, and our eyes met. His expression was soft despite the tension I could see in his shoulders.

“I need to let my parents know about Bobby,” he said, holding Tank’s satphone in his right hand.

“Do you want privacy?” I asked, already anticipating his answer. In the short time we’d known each other, we’d taken turns relying on each other’s strength.

He shook his head. “I’d like you to stay, but I also know that, while I’ll be talking about a version of my cousin that was lost to us years ago, for you, he’s someone very different.”

“I can separate the two in my mind.”

He raised a brow. “I admire you for that. I envy you too.”

“It’s all about peace, Pershing. My soul won’t find it if I carry hatred in my heart.”

He tossed the phone on the bed and gathered me in an embrace. “Do you feel it, Alice?”

I didn’t need him to explain his question. Our connection was as instantaneous as it was magical. “I do. I have since the first time I saw a photo of you.”

We kissed, then he rested his forehead against mine. “I should get this over with.”

I settled onto my cushion, focusing on peace and forgiveness, as he sat on the edge of the bed and placed the call.

“Mom? Is Dad there too? Can you put me on speaker?” His voice was steady, but I saw how tightly he gripped the phone. “There’s something I need to tell you both.” The pause that followed felt endless.

“It’s about Bobby.” Another pause. “He’s dead. It happened a couple of days ago.”

I could hear his mother’s cry through the phone, muffled but unmistakable. The sound of her grief made my own loss feel fresh again.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you details right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I was learning meant he was struggling to maintain control. “I’m at the camp, but I can’t talk about that either. Just know I’m safe.”

His father’s voice came through, steady like his son’s, conveying that, while he couldn’t explain, that he’d delivered the news himself meant everything to them. When he finally ended the call, Pershing looked exhausted, as if the weight of everything—Bobby’s death, Sarah’s murder, the corruption we were uncovering—had settled onto his shoulders all at once.

I sat beside him on the bed and took his hand in mine. He squeezed it gratefully, then pulled me closer until I was nestled against his side.

“That was harder than I expected,” he admitted, his voice rough.

“You did what you had to do.”

“They’ll have questions. More than I can answer right now.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “Dad knows something’s wrong—I’ve been in this job long enough that he’s learned how to sense it. But he didn’t push.”

“They trust you.”

“Yeah.” He sighed heavily.

Before he could say more, Tank appeared in the doorway. “Grit’s thirty minutes out.”

Pershing nodded, and I felt as much as saw his demeanor shift to the focused federal agent I’d first encountered. But he didn’t let go of my hand as we stood.

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