I Held Out the Silver Flash Drive Before My Knees Gave Way...

Gabriel's question stayed between us after he asked it.

Who did this to you?

Rain ticked against the windows behind him. The sound was steady enough to make the office feel sealed off from the city, though the blue-white lights below kept sliding across the glass in broken bands. I sat in the leather chair with one hand pressed to the torn elbow of my coat and the other closed around the flash drive.

My knees had stopped shaking. That didn't mean I was steady.

Gabriel remained crouched in front of me. He didn't touch my face again. His hand lowered to his own knee, leaving the space between us clear.

"Can you breathe?" he asked.

I nodded.

"That's not what I asked."

I drew in a careful breath. My ribs protested, but nothing gave way. "Yes."

His eyes moved to the blood spreading down my trouser leg. "We need medical help."

"No."

The answer came too fast. His expression barely changed, but I saw the pause behind it.

"Then tell me what you need."

That was harder. I looked past him at the isolated black laptop on the desk. Its screen was dark, reflecting the room and the silver edge of the drive in my hand.

"Toby," I said.

"I asked if Toby's clear."

"You said his debt was settled."

"Hours ago."

"That doesn't mean he's safe."

Gabriel's mouth tightened. He stood, crossed to the desk, and picked up his phone. I pushed myself straighter.

"Don't call anyone."

He stopped.

The office seemed to shrink around that single decision. I expected anger, the sharp authority people usually obeyed before they realized they were obeying it. Instead, he set the phone facedown beside the laptop.

"All right," he said. "No calls."

I studied him. "You mean it?"

"I mean I won't call anyone until you tell me who can be trusted."

A drop of water fell from my hair onto my cheek. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and felt the sting at my split lip. The memory of a hand closing around my coat flashed through me, followed by the scrape of pavement and the certainty that I had lost the drive.

But it was still there.

I opened my fist.

The silver drive lay across my palm, small enough to disappear under a thumbnail. Gabriel looked at it, then at me.

"Is it the only copy?"

"Yes."

"Does anyone know you brought it here?"

"I don't know."

He didn't reach for it. That mattered more than I wanted it to.

"Put the laptop on the floor," I said.

His eyebrows drew together. "Why?"

"Because I don't want anything connected to the office network."

He considered the request, then lifted the laptop and placed it on the carpet near the chair. He disconnected a cable from the wall and left the machine closed.

Only after he sat on the floor across from me did I slide the drive toward him.

Our fingers almost touched. I pulled mine back first.

Gabriel noticed. He noticed everything.

"Harper," he said quietly, "if this hurts you to keep holding, you can let go."

"I know."

But I didn't let go.

Outside, a siren rose and faded between the towers. Gabriel waited without filling the silence. For the first time since I had entered the office, I believed he understood that waiting could be an action.

I gave him the drive.

He placed it on the carpet between us instead of taking it into his hand.

"Then we do this your way," he said.

I leaned back against the chair, exhausted by the simple act of making a choice. The drive reflected a thin line of city light.