Chapter 10

Sheila didn’t sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the message.

Stop digging.

The words burned into her mind, looping over and over, like a threat whispered directly into her ear. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the city outside her apartment window. Every sound felt louder. Every shadow felt deliberate.

By morning, she was exhausted but sharper.

Fear had a way of doing that.

She arrived at the arena earlier than usual, hoping the quiet would steady her nerves. It didn’t. The building felt awake already, humming with something restless and alert, like it was holding its breath.

She scanned in, nodded at security, and moved quickly toward the analysis room.

That was when she noticed it.

The door to her office was slightly open.

She stopped.

Her pulse spiked.

She was certain she had locked it the night before.

She stood there for a moment, debating whether to turn around and call someone. But the thought of looking weak of confirming that she was scared made her straighten her spine instead.

She pushed the door open.

Nothing looked out of place.

Her desk was clean. Her files were stacked neatly. Her laptop sat exactly where she’d left it.

Too neat.

She walked inside slowly.

Then she saw it.

A single sheet of paper lay in the center of her desk.

Not one of hers.

Her breath caught as she picked it up.

It was a printout of her latest report.

Her notes.

Her observations.

Every comment about Atticus’s shoulder. His breathing. His endurance limits.

At the bottom, written in red ink, were three words.

You’re watching too closely.

She dropped the paper.

Her hands were shaking now.

This wasn’t a warning anymore.

This was surveillance.

She backed away from the desk, her heart pounding, her thoughts racing. Whoever this was—they had access. To the arena. To her workspace. To her work.

She grabbed her bag and turned sharply......and collided with someone solid.

She gasped.

Strong hands caught her by the arms, steadying her before she could fall.

“Easy.”

That voice.

She looked up.

Atticus.

He stood inches away, his expression unreadable, his jaw tense. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

She shoved his hands away immediately.

“Don’t touch me.”

His eyes flicked to the paper on the floor.

Then back to her face.

“They came into your office,” he said flatly.

It wasn’t a question.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

Atticus exhaled through his nose, something dark passing through his eyes.

“I told you,” he said. “You’re not safe here.”

She bristled. “Don’t say it like this is my fault.”

“It’s not,” he replied. “But it is your problem now.”

She crossed her arms tightly. “You knew this would happen.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me properly?”

“I did warn you.”

“No,” she snapped. “You intimidated me.”

His gaze sharpened. “That was me being gentle.”

She stared at him, stunned.

“Gentle?” she repeated.

Atticus stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If I wanted to scare you, you wouldn’t be standing here arguing with me.”

Her heart hammered, but she didn’t step back.

“Then tell me the truth,” she said. “Who is doing this?”

Atticus hesitated.

Just for a second.

But she saw it.

“That’s what I thought,” she said bitterly. “You know.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then say it.”

He looked away.

That hurt more than his silence.

She laughed quietly, without humor. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” he said.

“That’s convenient.”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “This isn’t about trust. This is about survival.”

She shook her head. “You keep acting like I’m fragile.”

“You are unprotected,” he shot back. “There’s a difference.”

She took a step toward him. “I’m not leaving.”

“I know.”

“Then stop trying to scare me away.”

Atticus looked at her for a long moment, his expression tightening like he was holding something back.

“You think I’m your enemy,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

He gave a sharp, humorless smile. “That’s safer for you.”

Before she could respond, voices echoed down the hallway. Footsteps. Approaching.

Atticus straightened instantly, his mask sliding back into place.

“You need to act normal,” he murmured.

“Normal doesn’t exist anymore,” she whispered.

The door opened.

Carter stepped inside, all polished confidence and cold curiosity. His eyes flicked from Atticus to Sheila, then to the paper on the floor.

“Well,” he said lightly. “Looks like someone’s popular.”

Sheila’s stomach twisted.

Carter smiled at her. “You should be careful, Ms. Feint. People don’t like it when their secrets are written down.”

She met his gaze. “Then they shouldn’t make them so obvious.”

The smile vanished.

Atticus shifted, stepping slightly in front of her without even thinking.

Carter noticed.

Of course he did.

His eyes gleamed.

“Oh,” he said softly. “That’s interesting.”

Atticus’s voice was calm. “We’re done here.”

Carter chuckled. “This is just beginning.”

He turned and left.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Sheila looked at Atticus.

“You didn’t deny it,” she said. “You didn’t deny knowing.”

Atticus met her gaze fully now.

“Because denying it would be a lie.”

Her chest tightened. “Then tell me why they care so much.”

His voice dropped. “Because I don’t break easily.”

She stared at him.

“And because,” he continued, “you’re the first crack they’ve seen in years.”

Her breath caught.

“I don’t want to be your weakness,” she said quietly.

Atticus’s eyes softened just a fraction.

“You’re not,” he said. “You’re a risk.”

She let out a shaky breath. “That’s worse.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”

They stood there, the distance between them charged and unresolved.

Finally, Atticus spoke again.

“If you stay,” he said, “they will come harder.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded once.

“Then stay close,” he said. “And stop pretending you don’t feel this.”

She frowned. “Feel what?”

His eyes locked onto hers.

“The pressure,” he said. “The pull. The fact that they’re already moving pieces around us.”

She swallowed.

“I feel it,” she admitted.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Because that means you’re awake.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“And Sheila,” he added.

She looked up.

“This game?” he said. “It doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

The door closed behind him.

She stood alone in the room, heart racing, mind spinning.

She looked down at the paper again.

Then she picked it up.

Folded it carefully.

And slipped it into her bag.

If they thought fear would make her stop

They were wrong.

Sheila Feint wasn’t backing down.

Not now.

Not ever.