Hat Check at Sunset

I catch sight of Marcus across the padel court, his hat pulled low like he's trying to hide. The orange in my hand feels suddenly heavy, its bright skin mocking the darkness I've just uncovered.

He's not who I thought he was. The man I've been sharing meals with, laughing with at dinner, planning a future with - he's been sent to steal our research. My phone buzzed ten minutes ago with security footage: Marcus photographing documents in my office after hours.

The padel ball cracks against his racket, rhythmic and practiced. Everything feels rehearsed now. His questions about my work, his interest in project timelines, the way he always knew exactly when to visit - all of it, strategy.

I watch him laugh at something his opponent says, that genuine smile I fell for last winter. Was any of it real?

The orange peel falls away in strips, revealing the fruit underneath. Bitter and sweet together.

Marcus senses my gaze and turns. His expression shifts from relaxed to something guarded, then carefully neutral. He adjusts his hat and heads toward me, that familiar easy stride that now makes my stomach turn.

"Elena," he says, and I hear the carefulness in his tone. "You're early."

I squeeze the orange until juice runs down my wrist. "Just got a call from security."

His smile doesn't waver, but his eyes do. "About what?"

"About the spy in our department."

The silence stretches between us, longer than any pause in our conversation has ever lasted. Behind him, the padel game continues, players calling out scores, laughter from nearby courts. Life goes on, oblivious.

"Elena -"

"How long, Marcus? Since we met? Before?"

"You don't understand -"

"I understand that you're good at your job." I drop the crushed orange into the nearest trash can. "I'll give you that much."

He takes a step closer, dropping his voice. "It wasn't supposed to go like this."

"They never do." I should feel something more - rage, tears, something. Instead, there's just this hollow clarity, like waking up alone in a hotel room and not remembering where you are.

"I loved you," he says, and he almost sounds like he means it.

"That's what makes you good at this." I turn toward the parking lot. "Don't follow me."

Behind me, I hear him call my name once, then stop. The padel game continues. Somewhere, a car alarm chirps. The world keeps moving.

I grip the steering wheel, waiting for my hands to stop shaking. They don't.