Chapter 161: The Weight of Trust.
Becky parked outside CGI headquarters as early evening settled over the capital. The building’s lights were already on, glowing in sharp rectangular blocks against the deepening blue sky. The city moved into its night rhythm around us, streetlights flickering to life one by one, distant traffic humming, the low murmur of people heading home.
"Finally," she said, hands still on the wheel. Neither of us moved for a moment.
In the corridor ahead, Sherry appeared briefly at the glass entrance. She looked out, scanning the lot, then turned and walked back inside, her silhouette disappearing behind the reflective doors.
Becky watched it happen, fingers tapping once on the steering wheel.
"Are you two something?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Not yet would have been the honest answer," she replied, turning to look at me. "Sherry grew up under our roof. I’ve never seen her carry herself the way she does around you."
"We’re good friends," I said.
"Max is also her good friend. She doesn’t behave the same way around him."
"Max doesn’t want to be her friend," I said. "He wants more."
Becky looked at me and something clicked behind her eyes. "That’s why he doesn’t like you."
"Probably," I said. "He’ll be fine."
"The Max I know—"
I opened my door and stepped out. The evening air was cooler now, brushing against my skin with the faint scent of the city, exhaust, street food, distant rain on concrete.
She stepped out mid-sentence and kept going without missing a beat, which I was beginning to understand was simply how Becky operated.
"Report first," she said, falling into step beside me. Her sword caught the glow of the building lights, the blade’s edge flashing once. "Then we call it a day."
We walked toward the entrance together, boots striking the pavement in quiet rhythm. The automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, releasing a wave of cool, filtered air that smelled of metal and paper.
Good partnership, I thought, glancing sideways at her as we stepped inside. Good ride.
Sherry was leaning against the corridor wall, arms loosely crossed, one boot propped behind her. The overhead lights caught the edge of her jaw and the faint tension in her shoulders as she watched us approach.
"There’s your girlfriend," Becky said under her breath, voice carrying just enough edge to be heard.
I let it sit without reply.
We reached her. Becky and Sherry embraced in that easy, familiar way of people who had grown up under the same roof, arms wrapping tight, cheeks brushing, a quick squeeze that spoke of shared history. Sherry’s hand lingered a second on Becky’s back before they separated.
Sherry turned to me. "I’ll wait here."
"Alright," I said.
Becky and I kept moving. After we passed Sherry, Becky closed the small gap between us, walking closer than before. Her arm brushed mine with every step, the fabric of her sleeve catching against my skin. I noted it without comment. She had her reasons. I was still learning them.
We reached the mission room. Max was coming out.
He saw us. Specifically, he saw how close Becky was walking beside me. His face did the thing it did when it was trying not to do anything, jaw tightening, smile pulling thin at the edges. He tapped my shoulder as he passed, the contact firm but brief, the tap of someone making contact without making a statement.
"I’ll be outside," he said to Becky, voice even, and kept walking.
We went in.
Bala was seated at the head of the table, waiting with the patient stillness of someone who had been doing this for a very long time and had stopped finding late reports worth commenting on. His coat was draped over the back of his chair. His hands rested flat on the table, fingers spread.
I sat down across from him. The chair legs scraped against the floor.
Report, I thought. Then Sherry in the corridor. Then the apartment and Carrise. Then whatever tomorrow brings.
Bala looked at me for a long second, eyes sharp and unreadable, before he spoke.
"Tell me how it went."
"Positive," Becky said immediately, standing tall beside me.
He nodded once, slow and deliberate. "Mrs. Rivers called shortly after you left." His gaze settled on me directly. "I’m genuinely impressed. Stronger missions going forward."
"Okay, sir," Becky said.
"Thank you both," Bala said, already rising. "You’re free to go."
We stood. The chairs scraped back against the floor. We walked out without another word.
The report had already been delivered before we opened our mouths. Mrs. Rivers had done it herself, which told me everything about how Bala operated. He hadn’t sent us just to inform her. He had sent us to be assessed by her. And she had passed her verdict directly to the top.
That’s how the walls work, I thought as we stepped into the corridor. Nobody trusts the report. Everyone trusts the source.
Sherry was still exactly where she said she’d be, leaning against the wall with one shoulder, arms loosely crossed. She pushed off the moment she saw us, falling into step beside me as Becky peeled off toward the exit.
"See you tomorrow, partner," Becky called without looking back, her blonde braid swinging with each stride.
"Tomorrow," I said.
She disappeared around the corner, sword still on her back, boots echoing until the sound faded.
Sherry stayed close, her shoulder brushing mine with every step as we headed out together. The easy, familiar rhythm of two people who had moved through enough spaces side by side to stop thinking about it.
"How was it?" she asked, voice low.
"Interesting," I said.
She looked at me sideways, eyes narrowing slightly. "That’s all I’m getting?"
"For now," I said.
She accepted it without pressing, the way she often did, and we walked out into the evening together.
The capital night had settled in fully. Streetlights glowed in steady rows, casting pools of warm yellow across the pavement. The air was cooler now, carrying the faint scent of rain on concrete and distant food stalls. Our footsteps synced without effort as we moved away from the bright lights of CGI headquarters, the city humming around us — alive, unaware, and waiting.
Sherry’s hand brushed mine once, then again. This time she let it stay, fingers loosely threading between mine as we walked deeper into the capital night.
