Chapter 29
Nora's POV
Three days later, February's snow in Silverton had given way to March's cold rain. I'd finished my last day of training and been thrown straight into fieldwork, but everything was proceeding smoothly.
At 5 PM, Kathy appeared at my workstation with an armful of case files, a sympathetic smile on her face. "Nora, you're like a multi-talented caseworker—home visits, documentation, photography, data analysis, legal paperwork. You can do everything. No wonder the director transferred you here."
Benjamin looked up from his desk with a wry grin. "Multi-talented, but also the most exhausted."
I managed a tired laugh, rubbing my eyes. "Back in Blackwood, we don't have enough staff. One person has to wear multiple hats. Not like here in Silverton where everyone has specific roles."
Robert walked past, pausing to glance at the photographs I'd been organizing. "Seriously though, Nora's photography is really good. These field shots—the composition and lighting are very professional."
"Thanks," I said. Despite the exhaustion, a small warmth bloomed in my chest. It felt good to be recognized for the work itself, not the politics surrounding it.
My phone sat silent on my desk. Kyle had called seventeen times over the past three days. I hadn't answered once. Eventually, he'd stopped trying.
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I finished organizing the last file, closed my laptop, and stretched my aching shoulders. The clock showed 5:47 PM. I'd originally planned to ask Benjamin to come with me to pick up my car—the one that had been in the shop since the highway accident—but he had to work an extra hour on an emergency case report.
Before leaving, Benjamin apologized profusely and promised to treat me to dinner later as compensation. I had no choice but to go alone.
When I stepped outside the building, the evening air hit me—cold and damp, carrying that metallic smell that comes before rain. I was pulling out my phone to call a cab when I heard a familiar voice.
"Miss Grey."
I looked up. The black Lincoln Navigator sat at the curb, engine purring softly. Ethan leaned out the driver's window, his expression polite but knowing, as if he'd been waiting for me.
My stomach did an odd flip. "Mr. Russell," I said carefully, keeping my tone professional.
"Just Ethan, please." He smiled. "Where are you headed?"
"Henderson Auto on Fifth Street."
"We're going that direction anyway." He tilted his head toward the back seat. "Save yourself the fare."
I hesitated. The back window was tinted dark, but I knew who was inside. Every instinct told me to politely decline, to maintain the distance that professionalism required. But before I could form the words, the rear window rolled down with a smooth electric hum.
Julian's silver-gray eyes found mine through the gap. He was in his usual dark suit, tie loosened slightly at the collar—probably the only concession to the long day.
"Nora," he said quietly. "Get in. We need to talk."
It wasn't a request. It wasn't quite an order either, but something in between that made my chest tighten. I nodded, words failing me, and reached for the door handle.
I slid in, and the door closed behind me with a soft click that seemed too loud in the silence. Julian sat at a polite distance. The air carried his scent—something woody and clean, mixed with the faint smell of coffee.
Ethan pulled smoothly into traffic without a word. I kept my hands folded in my lap, hyperaware of everything.
After a stretch of silence, he finally spoke. "How's the work at the regional office?"
I exhaled slowly, grateful for the neutral topic. "Intense," I admitted. "The regional office handles cases with more depth and complexity than Blackwood. But the team's been supportive. I'm learning a lot."
"DSW work is demanding, but you need to take care of yourself."
The concern in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn't the Federal Inspector General speaking—this was something else, something softer. I shifted uncomfortably. "We're short-staffed during the Agitation season. Someone has to cover the extra shifts."
"Someone doesn't have to be you every time."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he raised a hand slightly, cutting me off with the gentlest authority.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't work hard. You do excellent work, Nora. I can see it." His voice dropped lower. "But skipping meals and running yourself into the ground won't help the people who need you. You're no good to them exhausted and sick."
Heat crept up my neck. He was right, of course—I'd had irregular eating habits the past three days, surviving on vending machine snacks and coffee. But hearing him say it out loud made me feel oddly exposed, like he'd been watching more closely than I'd realized.
"I'll try," I said quietly.
"Not try. Do." The corner of his mouth lifted—barely a smile, but enough to soften the command. "That's an order, if it helps."
Despite myself, I smiled back. "Yes, sir."
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or something warmer—but it vanished before I could name it.
The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore.
The Lincoln slowed as we neared the repair shop, its neon sign glowing weakly through the rain. Ethan pulled into the lot and put the car in park, glancing at us in the rearview mirror.
I reached for the door handle, then froze.
Shit.
Julian noticed immediately. "What's wrong?"
I closed my eyes, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn through me. I had forgotten my driver's license.
The realization hit like ice water. My driver's license was sitting on my apartment's kitchen counter, exactly where I'd left it this morning in my rush to get to work.
"Nothing," I replied. Maybe the shop wouldn't need to see my license.
The Lincoln pulled to a stop outside Henderson Auto. I reached for the door handle.
"Thank you for the ride, Mr. Sterling," I said, keeping my tone polite and professional as I turned toward the door.
He nodded, but his jaw tightened slightly, as if he were weighing words and then discarding them.
Does he have something to tell me? I wondered, noticing the barely perceptible tension in his shoulders.
"I should go in," I said, breaking the moment.
"Of course." His voice returned to that deliberate neutrality, the brief crack in his composure sealing over again.