Delaney left Ms. Vargas's office with her jaw clenched and her folder pressed tight against her ribs.
The conversation had been brief, pointed—concerns about "team morale," questions about "methodology," warnings about "crossing lines." Nothing concrete. Nothing actionable. Just pressure, disguised as professional concern.
She walked past Jess's desk without looking, but the secretary's cheerful "Have a good one!" followed her down the hall anyway.
Back at her own desk, Delaney set the folder down and stared at her computer screen. The Fighter's face stared back—candid shot from Marshall's latest batch. Tired eyes. Guard up. Always guard up.
She didn't hear Rowan approach until he was already there, leaning against the edge of her desk with that easy, unguarded presence he always carried. He held out a bottle of water.
Rowan sat on the desk edge properly now, still holding the water out until she took it.
Rowan chuckled.
There was a pause. Delaney's fingers tightened around the water bottle.
Delaney looked at him—really looked at him. At the genuine concern in his eyes, the absence of judgment, the offer made without expectation of anything in return.
She grabbed her bag, stood, and walked toward the exit. At the doorway, she paused and glanced back.
Rowan was already at his desk, organizing papers, humming quietly to himself. Still smiling.
She left before that feeling could settle into something heavier.
Outside, the city moved on. Traffic. Voices. Life continuing without her.
Delaney pulled out her phone and stared at a contact she hadn't called in two years.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
Mom: "Delaney?"
Her mother's voice—surprised, cautious, familiar in a way that hurt.
Delaney: "Hi, Mom. I..." [exhales slowly] "I'm coming home for a few days. Is that... okay?"
Silence on the other end. Then, softer:
Mom: "Of course it is. When?"
Delaney: "Tomorrow. I'll text you the details."
Mom: "Okay. We'll... we'll be here."
Delaney hung up before the conversation could go deeper. Before the questions could start.
She stood on the sidewalk, bag slung over her shoulder, bruised face catching the afternoon light. Her finger hovered over her contacts again.
Her sister's name sat there like an unfinished sentence. They hadn't spoken in—what? A year? Maybe longer. Last time had been a stilted birthday text that went unanswered for three days.
But if she was going home, if she was doing this—
She pressed call before she could talk herself out of it.
It rang longer this time. Four times. Five. Delaney almost hung up.
Amore: "Delaney?" Her voice was lighter than their mother's, but just as cautious. There was an echo quality to the line, that slight delay of an international connection.
Delaney: "Hey. Um. I'm coming home tomorrow. For a few days." She shifted her bag on her shoulder. "I was wondering if... maybe you'd want to come? Stay at Mom and Dad's while I'm there?"
Silence.
Amore: "You're coming home." She said it like she was testing the words. "Like, actually coming home?"
Delaney: "Yeah."
Amore: "Are you okay? Did something happen?"
Delaney: "I'm fine. Just—" Stopped herself. "I just thought it might be good to see everyone. It's been a while."
Another pause. Delaney could hear something in the background—music, maybe. Or traffic in a different language.
Amore: "Yeah. It has been." Her voice softened slightly. "You really want me there?"
Delaney: "I do."
🌍 Estimated distance: Far enough to require planning
A longer pause. Delaney heard what sounded like Amore moving, maybe stepping outside or into a quieter room.
Amore: "Okay. Yeah. I can get a flight tomorrow night. I'll be there the day after."
Delaney: "Really?" The relief in her voice surprised even her.
Amore: "Really. It'll be tight, but I can make it work." A beat. "Delaney... are you sure you're okay?"
Delaney: "I'm trying to be."
Amore: "Okay. I'll text you my flight details when I book it."
Delaney: "Thank you."
Amore: "Don't thank me. You're my sister." Her voice cracked slightly. "I've been waiting for you to call."
Delaney: "I'm sorry it took so long."
Amore: "Just... be there when I arrive, okay?"
Delaney: "I will."
Amore: "And Delaney?"
Delaney: "Yeah?"
Amore: "I'm really glad you called."
Delaney: "Yeah. Me too."
They hung up.
Delaney stood on the sidewalk for another moment, phone still in her hand, staring at nothing. The international call icon blinked on her screen before fading.
Behind her, through the office windows, she could see her team still scattered at their desks. Marshall staring blankly at his screen. Sandy picking at her fingers. Mika hunched over her phone.
And Rowan, organizing files, humming.
Delaney turned and walked toward the train station.
She was thinking about home.
About her mother's cautious voice.
About Amore booking a flight from wherever she'd been living—somewhere far enough that it required planning, required sacrifice to come back.
About what she'd left behind when she ran.
And maybe—just maybe—what she could still salvage if she tried.