Chapter 17: The Break-In

Isla's POV

Three hours pass like an eternity. I sit in the car with my phone, refreshing news feeds, checking social media, looking for any sign that Ellis and Brandon are safe. The silence is suffocating.

Then Ellis's phone buzzes in my pocket—a text from Jensen.

Coming back. Lloyd in custody. Plan changed. Drive deleted. Prepare for extraction.

I read it three times, trying to understand what it means. Lloyd in custody. The recording—the evidence we fought so hard to gather—is gone.

Ellis sacrificed everything to save Brandon.

The realization hits me with the force of betrayal and clarity in equal measure. He made a choice without consulting me. He chose one man's life over the justice we were seeking.

And I'm not sure if I'm furious or in love with him.

When they arrive at the safe house, Ellis looks destroyed. Brandon is shaking, traumatized, barely able to stand. Jensen moves like a man who's seen too much violence in one night.

"Lloyd confessed to everything," Ellis tells me quietly. "Lloyd confessed to my father's death. To your father's death. Lara arrested him on the spot."

"So it's over," I say slowly.

"It's starting," Ellis corrects. "Lloyd's in custody, but Fuller is still out there. The shadow committee is still operating. We just lost our only proof of their involvement."

I look at Ellis, and for the first time, I'm truly angry at him.

"You deleted the recording," I say. It's not a question.

"To save Brandon's life, yes."

"Without consulting me. Without asking if I agreed."

"Would you have?" Ellis asks quietly.

I open my mouth to say yes, but the lie dies before it leaves my lips. The truth is more complicated. The truth is that I don't know. The truth is that I might have made the same choice, or I might have insisted we find another way.

But Ellis made the choice for both of us.

Brandon collapses on the couch, and I fetch water, bandages, anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from spinning into recriminations.

"I'm sorry," Brandon whispers. "I'm so sorry. They threatened my mother. They said if I didn't cooperate, they'd—"

"Shh," I say, kneeling beside him. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

But even as I say it, I remember the weeks of betrayal. I remember realizing he was feeding information to Lloyd's network. I remember the hurt of that discovery.

Forgiveness is more complicated than absolution.

My phone buzzes. Unknown number.

You think you've won. You haven't. The game is just getting interesting. - A Friend

I show it to Ellis, and his entire body goes rigid.

"We're not done," he says.

"I know," I reply. "But right now, Brandon needs medical attention. And I need answers."

I turn to Ellis, and there's a question in my eyes that he can't avoid any longer.

"Who are you really working with?" I ask. "Jensen is FBI, isn't he? And Detective Patterson—she's been running this entire operation. Which means you knew. You knew this whole time."

Ellis's silence is answer enough.

"How long?" I demand.

"Since the beginning," he admits quietly. "Before I even met you at that bar. I was already undercover, already investigating Lloyd. And when you walked into my life, you complicated everything."

"I was a complication." The words taste like ash. "A convenient one, I'm sure. An architect with her dead father's secrets, stumbling around trying to solve a ten-year-old mystery. Very convenient for your investigation."

"That's not fair," Ellis says, and there's an edge to his voice now. "Yes, you were connected to the case. Yes, I took advantage of that. But what happened between us—"

"Was built on lies," I finish. "On manipulation. On you using me to get closer to the truth."

"No." Ellis moves toward me, and I step back. "That was real. Everything I feel for you is real."

"How would I know? You've lied about everything else."

We stand in the small apartment, the space between us suddenly vast and impassable. Outside, the city continues its endless dance of corruption and redemption. Inside, my world is cracking apart.

My phone buzzes again.

This time, it's a photograph. My apartment. My bedroom. Taken from outside, through the window.

Someone is watching. Someone is always watching.

"They're still coming," I whisper, showing Ellis the photo.

His expression shifts from guilt to cold determination.

"Then we move," he says. "We don't wait. We don't hesitate. We get to Fuller before Fuller gets to us."

"With what?" I ask, my voice sharp. "You deleted our evidence. We have nothing."

"We have this," Ellis says, pulling out a second USB drive from his jacket pocket. "I made a copy before the gala. Just in case. Just in case I needed insurance."

He doesn't say it, but I understand. He didn't trust me. He didn't trust Lara. He didn't trust anyone except himself.

And in the end, his paranoia might be what saves us.

"So what now?" I ask.

Ellis meets my eyes. "Now we finish this. Together."

The word hangs between us like a benediction and a curse.

Together. It's beginning to feel like a trap.