Fruit of Betrayal

The lightning illuminated her apartment in strobe flashes, each one revealing Julian's silhouette by the window. Elena watched him from bed, the sheets tangled around her legs like the lies she'd been telling herself.

Three months. That's how long she'd been the CIA's plant inside his pharmaceutical company, gathering evidence of the illegal drug trials. Three months of dinners, shared secrets, his hands on her skin, his voice whispering things she pretended not to analyze.

Her cat, Binx, wound through her legs, purring. Animals sensed things. Maybe that's why Binx had started sleeping in the closet last week.

"You're leaving," she said, not a question.

Julian turned. The lightning flashed again, catching the exhaustion in his eyes. "They know, Elena. Someone at the Agency sold you out."

Her heart hammered. "How?"

"Does it matter?" He reached for his coat. "You got what you needed. The evidence is in your encrypted drive."

She had. But somewhere along the way, the mission had tangled with something else. Something she couldn't file in a report.

He paused by the kitchen counter. "You left a papaya on the counter. It's going to rot."

"I bought it for your breakfast tomorrow," she said, the words thick in her throat.

"Tomorrow." He laughed bitterly. "There is no tomorrow for us."

He started to button his coat, then stopped. "But there might be one for you. If you run. They're sending a team at dawn."

"You're warning me. After everything."

"I loved you, Elena. Whatever else is true, that's true."

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Agency protocol. The emergency signal.

"Go," he said. "Please."

He opened the door, then paused. "You forgot your hat. The black one you wear to blend in." He picked it up from the hook. "Take it. And don't look back."

She grabbed the hat, her go-bag from under the bed, Binx's carrier from the closet. At the door, she turned. Julian stood in the lightning's glare, his face unreadable.

"Why?" she asked.

"Even spies deserve to choose who burns them."

She ran into the storm, the hat pulled low, wondering which betrayal would destroy her first—the one she'd committed, or the one she couldn't stop feeling grateful for.