What Comes After Breaking

Amelia barely remembered falling asleep.

What she did remember was crying, harder than she had in years, into Frederick Blackwell’s arms, after their voices had climbed, after he’d pushed too hard, and after she’d finally admitted with her tears that she was scared. Not just of the threat, but of the fact that someone had gotten so close to her without her noticing. Of being watched. Of being vulnerable. Of being alone in a place that still didn’t feel like hers.

And Frederick... he hadn’t said much. He’d just held her. Tighter than she expected. Longer than he probably meant to.

Now, in the grey stillness of morning, she felt different. Like her skin didn’t fit quite right. Like something between them had shifted in ways she couldn’t explain, and didn’t know how to carry into daylight.

She avoided the kitchen. She wasn’t ready for small talk and coffee.

Instead, she wandered, barefoot and quiet, toward the library she’d never used. The tall glass doors were slightly open. She stepped inside and walked toward the wall of windows, half-hoping he wasn’t already there.

He was.

Frederick stood near the shelves, holding a closed book in one hand but clearly not reading. His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled again, shirt open at the collar. He looked up when she entered, but didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

For a while, the only sound was the hum of the city below them.

“I didn't mean to hide it,” she said eventually. Her voice was calm, but her fingers tightened around the hem of her shirt.

He nodded once. “But you did.”

“Well, forgive me for getting a threat letter after I moved into a strange man's home and might I add, I don't know or trust any fucking person here,” she added.

“Amelia.” A beat passed. “I need you to understand that whether or not you trust me is not imperative. What matters is if you ever and I mean ever feel like you're threatened and you don't belong here, I'm the first person you should turn to. Me, Amelia, me. Ask me, Tell me. Don't hide things from me. You could have been killed on your way to work."

She crossed her arms. “I didn’t want to give it power. Saying it out loud would’ve made it real.”

“It was already real.”

She swallowed hard. “I know.”

There was another pause—heavy, but not hostile.

“I'm sorry I hid it from you. Next time I get something like that, I'll let you know."

"No, Amelia. Don't wish for a next time... don't." He said flustered and trying to catch his breath.

Amelia laughed a little and he looked up. "This isn't funny."

"It is a little bit funny."

"I have my men working overtime finding the source of the note."

Her heart beat louder than the words in her mouth, and for a second, she couldn’t meet his eyes.

"Thank you." She said and looked away shyly.

"You're my responsibility. Try not to forget that at least?"

“I’m still trying to figure you out,” she said finally.

“Then we’re even,” he replied.

They stood like that for a while, with just enough distance to feel it.

She turned to the window. “The driver’s waiting?”

He nodded. “He’s briefed. Luke approved him personally.”

She gave a small nod of her own, then looked over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said. And she meant it.

"I'll be the one picking you up from work today. If we are going to be married, we'd have to act like it."

Frederick stepped aside so she could pass. As she walked by, her hand brushed lightly against his. It was nothing. Barely even contact.

But it was enough to make them both still for a moment.

Neither of them looked back.

But both of them knew that things weren’t the same anymore.

*****

It was almost 11:00 p.m. when Amelia checked the clock for the third time.

She’d changed out of her scrubs and was waiting by the front doors of the clinic, her bag over her shoulder, phone in hand. She’d messaged Frederick twice. No reply. A call went straight to voicemail.

She waited ten more minutes, then stepped outside.

That’s when a familiar car pulled up. The back door opened, and Luke stepped out.

“Where’s he?” she asked immediately.

Luke didn’t answer at first. He looked tired. Uneasy.

“Luke?”

“We can’t find him.”

Her heart dropped. “What do you mean, can’t find him?”

“He left the tower hours ago. He told me he had an off-site meeting and he was going to pick you up right after. But the car he took didn’t report back. No tracker. No return signal. Nothing.”

She stared at him, frozen in place.

He added, gently, “We’re trying to trace the route now. But something’s wrong.”

Amelia opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

And for the second time in twenty-four hours, she realized just how much she wasn’t ready to lose him.