Page 74 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

“I’ve seen enough for now,” she says. “I’ll write up a full report on the vulnerabilities and have it to you by Monday. In the meantime, I’d recommend not making any changes to the camera system. Let whoever’s watching think the blind spots are still there.”

“You want to use the blind spots as a trap,” Max says.

“If they try again, yes. It’s easier to catch someone when we know exactly where to look.”

She gathers her tablet and tucks it into her bag. Max and I stand as well, the three of us suddenly too close in the confines of the room.

“I can see myself out,” Sophie says, her voice sounding more professional again.

“I’ll walk you,” I offer.

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.”

She looks at me for a moment. Then she shrugs and heads for the door.

I follow her through the house, past the living room where Finn is still nursing his whiskey, out onto the front porch.

The evening air is cool, carrying the scent of fresh grass and rain. Sophie pauses on the steps, looking out at the grounds and the distant gleam of the Synthera building catching the last of the daylight.

“It’s peaceful here,” she says quietly.

“It is.” I lean against the porch railing, watching her. “That’s why we built it.”

She doesn’t respond. Just stands there for another moment, taking it all in.

Then she turns and walks to her car without looking back.

I watch until her taillights disappear around the curve of the driveway.

Then I head back inside, where Max and Finn are waiting.

Max has moved to the armchair by the fireplace, a glass of whiskey now in his hand. Finn is still on the couch, but he’s poured himself another drink—his third, maybe fourth, since Sophie arrived.

I settle onto the couch across from Finn, reaching for my own glass. The fire crackles softly, casting warm shadows across the room.

For a long moment, none of us speak.

“She’s good,” Max says finally. “I’ll give her that.”

“Terrifyingly good,” I agree. “She found vulnerabilities in an afternoon that Nathan’s team missed in ten years.”

“Makes you wonder what else she sees.” Max takes a slow sip. “What else she’s figured out that she’s not telling us.”

The fire pops, sending a small shower of sparks up the chimney.

“She’s not what I pictured,” I say carefully, not entirely sure what I mean by it.

Max just grunts, not agreeing or disagreeing.

Finn doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it slowly, his jaw tight.

I glance at the clock on the mantle. It’s nearly seven.

“Right, what time is our reservation for?” I ask Finn.

“Eight,” he says. His voice sounds strange and flat.