Evidence

The hotel pool shimmered with an artificial turquoise glow, reflecting the late afternoon sun. Elena sat on a lounge chair, her dark hair pulled back in a severe twist that was already coming undone in the humidity. She'd been here three hours, nursing the same gin and tonic, watching the door.

She wasn't the first woman to wait at a hotel pool for a married man who wouldn't show. But she was the first who'd planted cameras in his room beforehand.

Spy work was easier than she'd expected. James had taught her that much during their six years of corporate espionage together, before the affair, before the marriage, before everything. Now she was using his own tradecraft against him. The irony wasn't lost on her.

A cat wound around her chair legs — a stray calico with a mangled ear and the confidence of something that had survived worse than heartbreak. Elena dropped a piece of lime for it. "At least one of us is getting fed today."

Her phone buzzed. Security feed: room 412. James was there. Alone. Sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

He wasn't meeting anyone.

Elena's hand trembled as she picked up her drink. The ice had melted completely. All this time, she'd been so certain. The late nights, the encrypted messages on his burner phone, the sudden business trips to cities where their company had no offices. She'd built an entire case file on her own husband.

The cat jumped onto her chair, nudging her hand with a sandpaper-rough head. Elena stroked it absently, staring at the pool where children were now screaming, parents shouting warnings she couldn't quite hear. Everything sounded like it was underwater.

Maybe James wasn't cheating. Maybe he was back in the life — the real spy work they'd both sworn off when they got married. Or maybe something else entirely. People grew apart. People kept secrets. Not all secrets were betrayals.

She deleted the footage, closed the file, and ordered another drink. The cat settled in her lap, purring like a small engine of forgiveness. Some cases, she realized, should never be opened.