Page 76 of Hidden Attraction

She covered his hand with her own. “Yes. I wouldn’t be here without him.”

Navigating the streets by scooter felt the same. The safehouse hadn’t changed. The same cracked sidewalks, the sun-faded murals on concrete walls, the same cluster of stray cats lurking near the alley dumpster. But it all felt off now—tainted.

When they ditched the scooter on the side of the street and approached the head of the alley, she saw them.

Two dark coffee stains on the pavement. She stopped short.

Julian noticed, eyes tracking hers. “What is it?”

She stared at the stains, her chest tightening. “Those drinks…were for us. I was going to bring them into the house and sit with you on the bed, pass you your cup…just have a normal moment. Like normal people.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then his fingers squeezed hers gently.

She gave him a sad smile and turned away from the stain before it pulled her under.

Inside the safehouse, everything looked smaller. Bleaker. Like the room had collapsed in on itself. The bed they’d shared was a mess of rumpled sheets. Her boots lay kicked to one side, laces trailing like they’d been abandoned mid-thought. She remembered thinking she’d only be gone a minute.

Funny how one minute could unravel your entire life.

Julian gathered their gear. She moved automatically, folding what little she had and packing it with methodical detachment. Her body ached. Her mind raced. Her heart tried to keep up.

She looked over at him as he jammed the last of his clothes into his bag. He hadn’t said much since pulling her out of that warehouse, and every time she caught him looking at her, there was something behind his eyes. Guilt. Fury. Fear.

She wanted to tell him it was okay. That she was okay. But the words didn’t feel true yet.

By the time they made it back to the base, the sun was long gone, the tarmac nothing but shadows. They moved like ghosts—silent, burned out, haunted.

Commander Thorne met them at the gate and waved them through without a single word to them. A military-grade bird waited, idling on the far end of the runway.

Julian didn’t say anything as they climbed inside. She sank into the seat across from him, watching his face in the scant light. He looked exhausted. His knuckles were scraped, his shoulders locked.

She wanted to say something. Anything.

But all that came out was, “It’s going to feel good to be on American soil again.”

Julian looked up and gave her a weary grin. “Hell yes.”

She glanced out the window at the last sliver of Syria. Dirt, smoke, and stone. And somewhere out there, Cypher was watching. Waiting.

“Also going to feel a little sad,” she admitted.

Julian frowned. “Sad?”

She nodded. “The safehouse. The scooter. Our time… We’ll never have that again.”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at her like he was memorizing her face.

“No,” he said finally. “We won’t.”

She swallowed hard. Something tightened in her chest.

Goodbye to their love nest.

Goodbye to stolen time.

They came from different worlds, worlds that never mixed for long.

Because she was a diplomat.

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