Chapter Text
NOV 4TH, KIRAMMAN SALO HQ, CONNECTICUT
The air inside Cassandra Kiramman’s campaign headquarters felt electric, pulsing with the kind of nervous energy that could either ignite a celebration or burn everything to the ground.
The race was too close to call.
Caitlyn Kiramman stood near the front of the room, arms crossed, jaw tight, fingers drumming a slow, restless rhythm against her elbow. The floor-to-ceiling screens flickered between polling numbers and news anchors trying to fill dead air with forced political analysis. The final votes were being counted. Within the hour, she would either be the President’s daughter—or the daughter of a woman who almost won the presidency.
"America deserves to breathe clean air."
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. The slogan had been everywhere for the last year—printed on banners, whispered into microphones, rolled into speeches that Caitlyn had helped craft, edited, reshaped. She had spent months beside Mel Medarda, their campaign advisor and her best friend, breaking down polling trends, demographic data, ad buys, and debate performances. They had fought for this, clawed their way through the primaries, the town halls, the endless scrutiny.
And now, it all came down to this.
Mel stood at the podium, poised and polished as ever, delivering a speech that sounded optimistic—because it had to. A room full of donors, campaign staff, and political operatives all holding champagne glasses they weren’t drinking from yet.
Caitlyn shot a glance at Jayce Talis, her childhood friend and hopefully the next White House Press Secretary. He met her eyes, grimacing, mouthing, “Do you think we have it?”
Caitlyn didn’t answer. Because the truth was—she didn’t know.
The Republican nominee, Ambessa Medarda, had run a ruthless campaign. Her focus had been military expansion, stronger defense, and the kind of fear-based rhetoric that made people feel safe even when it meant handing over their freedoms.
She had used America’s deepest anxieties as a stepping stool.
And it had worked.
Cassandra’s platform had been clean energy, sustainability, lowering the country’s carbon footprint—the kind of long-term vision that wasn’t sexy, wasn’t immediate, and didn’t fit neatly into a thirty-second attack ad. She had spent the campaign trail shaking hands with steelworkers, single parents, farmers whose land had been destroyed by climate disasters. She had fought tooth and nail for every vote.
But was it enough?
Caitlyn didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she felt a light touch on her shoulder.
She turned—her mother.
Cassandra stood beside Aedan Salo, her running mate, arms linked, face unreadable.
But Caitlyn saw it.
The quiet, unwavering confidence in her mother’s expression.
Like she had already made peace with the outcome.
Caitlyn swallowed. Nodded. And looked back at the screen.
The numbers were shifting.
Votes coming in.
Red and blue flickering, fighting, deciding the future of the entire country.
And all Caitlyn could do was watch.
The clock was ticking.
Caitlyn could hear it, feel it, in every sharp inhale, every anxious glance at the screens, in the way people kept touching their phones like they could refresh the outcome if they checked hard enough.
It was a matter of time now.
She moved through the room, through the clusters of donors and advisors and future cabinet members, each one holding their breath in a way that felt collective, synchronized, inevitable.
She passed Senator Grayson, who had a glass of champagne in her hand but wasn’t drinking it, just watching the numbers roll in with the kind of steeled expression only someone who’s been through this before could manage.
She passed backers, strategists, the people who had made this possible—or at least, the ones who would take credit for it tomorrow. They all shared the same once-in-a-lifetime feeling:
We’re about to witness history.
Or.
We’re about to watch it slip away.
Caitlyn caught Jayce’s eye from across the room. He looked how she felt—like his stomach was a pressure cooker, like he was on the verge of breaking into a sprint just to burn some of this nervous energy off.
The room started to go quiet.
Not all at once. Not like a switch flipped. More like a hum dying down, like people realizing this was it.
The final swing state—the one that could tip this whole thing in either direction—was about to be called.
Caitlyn found herself moving back to where she was supposed to be. Back to her people.
Jayce. Mel. Her mother. Her father. Salo.
All of them huddled together. Breath caught.
She waited.
And waited.
The numbers shifted. Tilted. Looked like they were about to fall behind.
For a horrible, gut-wrenching second, Caitlyn thought—fuck, that’s it, we lost.
And then—
The surge.
A flood of votes. A last-minute swing. A shift so decisive, so absolute, that there was no arguing with it.
And then the words flashed across the screen—
CASSANDRA KIRAMMAN ELECTED 55TH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.
The room erupted.
Cheers. Tidal waves of relief. Hands clutching arms, backs, faces. A breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding escaped in a shaky exhale.
Jayce let out something between a laugh and a shout, grabbing her shoulder and shaking it like he needed physical confirmation that this was real.
Mel’s arms wrapped around her, tight, crushing, ecstatic. Caitlyn let it happen, let herself be squished, let herself exist in this moment where the only thing that mattered was that they had won.
She looked up—
And met her mother’s eyes.
Not gloating. Not smug. Just knowing.
Because this was just the beginning.
DECEMBER 1ST, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
The first gunshot cracked through the night air, followed by another, then a chorus. Suppressed, but sharp. Close. Too close.
Vi pressed her back against the crumbling wall of what had once been a home, rifle tight against her chest, boots digging into the loose dirt beneath her. Her heartbeat stayed steady—this wasn’t new.
"Two on the roof, one in the alley," Axel’s voice murmured through her earpiece, low and even. "The rest are inside the compound. We move in thirty."
Vi clicked her mic twice to confirm. Across the courtyard, she caught Ekko’s signal—two fingers up, then one tapping against his wrist. Two minutes.
Breathe. Focus. Execute.
Sevika crouched beside her, checking her magazine with quiet efficiency. She glanced over, expression unreadable. "You good?"
"Peachy," Vi muttered.
Sevika huffed, then refocused on the structure ahead—their target. A safe house doubling as an enemy stronghold. High walls, reinforced windows. Vi could still hear the occasional burst of gunfire, distant but telling. Civilians inside.
Her grip on the rifle tightened.
Ekko’s voice crackled in her ear. "Go."
They moved.
Swift. Precise. A well-oiled unit cutting through the dark.
Axel took the alley, silencing a guard with a quick, quiet shot. Ekko climbed the fire escape, blade flashing once before another body crumpled. Vi and Sevika reached the back entrance—a rusted door with a reinforced lock.
Sevika got to work, crouching by the keypad, fingers flying over the small device. Vi kept watch, scanning the street, keeping an ear out for movement.
Axel’s voice murmured, "Two inside, twenty feet ahead."
The lock clicked open.
Vi pushed in first.
The hallway smelled like gunpowder and sweat, thick with tension. Dim light flickered overhead. They moved in formation—Ekko covering the left, Sevika on the right, Vi leading forward.
Footsteps.
A figure turned the corner—rifle half-raised—Vi fired before they could react. The body hit the ground hard.
Then came the shouting.
"Move," Vi ordered.
The squad pushed forward, clearing room after room, precise and methodical. Vi’s rifle kicked against her shoulder as another hostile dropped. Close-quarters. No room for mistakes.
Then—a noise she wasn’t expecting.
A whimper.
A corner room. The door half-open, barely hanging on its hinges. Vi held up a fist, signaling a stop.
"Clear the rest," she told Ekko, voice low. "I’ve got this one."
He hesitated, but only for a second before moving on.
Vi stepped inside, gun lowered.
A child.
Barely six, maybe seven, curled against the far wall, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes wide with fear.
Vi immediately lowered herself, shifting to a crouch, softening her stance.
"Hey," she murmured. "You okay?"
The girl flinched, tucking in tighter. Her dress was torn, dirt-streaked, too thin for the cold.
Vi took a slow breath, forcing her hands steady.
"You're safe now," she said, voice calm, steady in a way that had nothing to do with combat. "No one’s gonna hurt you."
No response. Just shaky, uneven breathing.
Vi knew that sound.
She had made that sound once.
Long ago, in a different place, when she was small and terrified and didn’t know if safety was a real thing or just something people lied about to make you feel better.
She pulled a patch from her vest—a simple piece of fabric with her unit’s insignia. She held it out, offering.
The girl hesitated, then slowly, carefully, reached out and took it.
"See?" Vi said, managing a small, tired smile. "Now we match."
A few beats of silence.
Then, the girl nodded. Just barely.
Axel’s voice cut through her earpiece. "Vi, we’re clear."
She exhaled. "Got a kid in here."
A pause. Then, "Bring her. We’ll get her out."
Vi shifted, offering the girl her hand. "Come on, little fighter."
A second’s hesitation—then small fingers curled around hers.
Vi held tight.
She led the girl out into the night, pulse steady, footsteps sure.
The girl’s grip was small but unrelenting, her fingers locking onto Vi’s sleeve like a lifeline. Vi kept her close, shielding her as she stepped back into the hall, rifle loose in her grip but ready.
"Got the kid," she murmured into her mic. "Coming out now."
"Move fast," Ekko’s voice crackled. "We’ve got a vehicle inbound. Could be nothing, but let’s not stick around to find out."
Sevika chimed in, voice as dry as sandpaper. "Lanes adopting strays? This your new calling?"
"Shut up, Sev," Vi muttered, shifting her stance so the girl stayed behind her.
Axel’s voice followed, steady. "Exit's clear. Let's make this quick."
Vi exhaled, guiding the girl forward. "Almost there, little fighter. Just stick with me."
The girl barely nodded, her breathing still too shallow, too fast.
Vi knew that sound.
They rounded the last corner toward the exit. Almost there. The cold air was close enough to taste.
A shadow moved.
Fast.
Vi barely had time to react before a figure lunged out of the dark, a flash of steel catching the dim light.
A knife.
Vi didn’t think—just moved.
She yanked the girl behind her, twisting just in time for the blade to miss its target and scrape along her vest instead. She caught the attacker’s wrist before he could go for another strike, slamming him hard against the concrete wall.
His knee came up, aiming for her ribs—she blocked, countered, drove an elbow into his throat.
The man gasped, staggered. Vi twisted his arm back, forcing the knife from his grip—it clattered to the ground, forgotten.
"Vi!" Sevika barked from down the hall.
"I got it!" Vi shouted back.
The man snarled, tried to shove her off—but he was sloppy, desperate. Vi didn’t hesitate.
She slammed him back against the wall. Once. Twice. Hard enough that he stopped fighting.
His body slumped. Unconscious.
The whole thing lasted five seconds, maybe less.
But Vi barely had time to breathe before Ekko’s voice spiked in her earpiece.
"Two-minute window before that inbound vehicle reaches us. Move your ass, Vi!"
She turned—the girl was still pressed against the wall, shaking, eyes wide.
Vi crouched, gripping her shoulders. "You good?"
The girl’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just a small, terrified nod.
Vi exhaled, pulling her in for just a second, a quick, fierce reassurance. "I got you. Let’s go."
She scooped the girl up and sprinted.
By the time she reached the exit, Sevika was covering their rear, rifle up, keeping watch. Axel stood by the truck, already eyeing her like he was about to give her shit.
Ekko spotted her first. "Took you long enough."
"Had to take out the trash," Vi muttered, helping the girl into the vehicle.
Axel stepped closer, gaze flicking to her vest, where the knife had nearly found its mark.
"You good?" he asked, quieter.
Vi shrugged. "Better than him."
Sevika climbed in last, slapping the side of the truck. "Get us the hell out of here."
The vehicle roared to life, kicking up dust as it tore away from the compound. The moment they were clear, Vi let her head rest back against the metal siding, exhaling slowly.
The girl had curled into herself, clutching the patch Vi had given her earlier. Vi pulled off her gloves, reached out, and gently squeezed her shoulder.
"You're safe now, little fighter."
A long pause. Then, finally, a whisper.
"Thank you."
Vi nodded, letting her eyes close for a second as the truck rumbled beneath them.
Axel glanced over. "You gonna start collecting kids now?"
"Don’t test me," Vi muttered.
Sevika huffed. "Next mission, I’m taking bets on how many strays she picks up."
Vi flipped her off without opening her eyes.
The team fell into an easy silence, the weight of the mission settling over them. The kind of quiet that only came after walking the line between life and death and making it out the other side.
The mission was done. The girl was safe. The squad was intact.
DECEMBER 24TH, KIRAMMAN ESTATE, CONNECTICUT
The cold had a bite to it, sharp and dry against Caitlyn’s skin, but she barely noticed. The gardens were quiet, save for the occasional rustle of wind through dead branches and the slow burn of cigarette paper curling to ash.
This was tradition.
Every year, on Christmas Eve, Caitlyn, Jayce, and Mel snuck away from the warmth of the estate, found their way to the gardens, and broke the one promise they had made to themselves in college.
"We should quit." Jayce had said it four years ago, his head thrown back against the worn steps of their dorm. "For real this time."
"Agreed." Caitlyn had flicked her cigarette into the fountain, watching the embers drown. "Terrible habit."
"Absolutely vile," Mel had added, exhaling smoke into the sky.
And yet.
Here they were.
Caitlyn exhaled, watching as the smoke curled up, vanishing into the cold night air.
"Should we make a pact again?" Jayce asked, voice warm with amusement.
Mel snorted, flicking ash off her glove. "Oh, please. You’ll just break it next Christmas like the weak man you are."
"Wow. Alright," Jayce scoffed. "I see how it is."
Caitlyn smirked. "She’s not wrong."
Jayce shot her an incredulous look. "You’re supposed to be on my side."
Caitlyn took another slow drag, tilting her head. "I am. That’s why I’m being honest with you."
Mel laughed, leaning back against the stone ledge, the cherry of her cigarette glowing between her fingers. "I will say, this is our most dramatic year yet. The President’s daughter sneaking out for a smoke before she becomes the youngest Secretary of State in history. I should be disgusted, but I think I’m impressed."
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. "That’s one way to frame it."
Jayce nudged her knee with his. "Come on. You excited? Nervous? Secretly plotting a coup?"
Caitlyn huffed a small laugh, but the question sat heavier than she expected.
"Both," she admitted. "Maybe all three."
Mel raised a brow. "You? Nervous? I thought Kirammans were genetically engineered for power and cold efficiency."
Caitlyn gave her a flat look. "You want to trade jobs with me?"
Mel hummed, considering. "No, I like my job. Plus, I enjoy the sweet, sweet freedom of being able to talk shit about politicians rather than be one."
Jayce smirked. "You already do that, Mel."
"Exactly. And I plan to continue."
Caitlyn exhaled slowly, staring at the garden path, watching the way the frost glistened under the dim estate lights. A month.
One month until she stepped onto the world stage.
One month until every move she made was judged under a microscope.
Jayce seemed to read her mind. His voice softened. "You know you’ve got this, right?"
Caitlyn hesitated.
She knew she was qualified. She knew she had worked for this.
But knowing and feeling it were two different things.
"Do I?" she murmured.
Mel sighed, tossing her cigarette into the fountain. "Caitlyn. You’ve been preparing for this since we were twenty. You know more about global policy than half the people sitting in the Senate."
"And you’re not a dumbass," Jayce added helpfully.
Caitlyn huffed. "High praise."
Jayce grinned, bumping her shoulder. "Hey, dumbasses don’t get to run the world. Well. Usually."
Mel leaned forward, her tone quieter but firmer. "Listen, if anyone doubts you, you let them. Because in a year, they’ll be the same ones trying to kiss your ass."
Caitlyn took a slow drag, letting the words settle.
She didn’t say it, but it helped.
The wind picked up slightly, carrying the distant hum of music from inside the house. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, the warmth of a home that felt both comforting and suffocating all at once.
Caitlyn sighed. "Guess we should head back in before my mother realizes I’m missing and declares me a national emergency."
Mel smirked. "Already checked the news. No Amber Alert for you yet."
Jayce groaned as he stood, stretching. "One of these years, I swear I’ll actually quit."
Caitlyn flicked the last of her cigarette into the fountain, watching the cherry fade. "One of these years, we all will."
Mel grinned. "Bold of you to assume."
They shared a knowing look, the cold settling around them, the weight of what was coming just beneath the surface.
They all felt it.
This was the last Christmas before everything changed.
And they all knew it.
The warmth inside the estate was immediate, wrapping around Caitlyn as she stepped through the glass doors and back into the world of soft piano music, expensive cologne, and the dull hum of conversation layered over clinking glasses.
The Kiramman estate was dressed to impress—vaulted ceilings draped with wreaths, chandeliers glinting over a room full of the country’s most powerful and insufferable men. Senators, donors, business magnates, all gathered in polished suits and carefully practiced smiles. The kind of people who could hold a glass of bourbon in one hand and sign away a worker’s pension with the other.
Caitlyn barely had time to step fully inside before one of them peeled off from a nearby group, beaming like they were old friends.
"Caitlyn Kiramman," Senator Marcus Harper drawled, reaching out to clasp her shoulder in the kind of touch that was just friendly enough to be patronizing. "The star of the hour. It’s good to see the next generation taking up the mantle."
Caitlyn smiled, well-practiced and sharp. "Happy holidays, Senator."
"Happy holidays indeed," he said, chuckling like he had told a joke. "Though, I imagine yours will be busy. Quite a job you’re stepping into."
"That’s the plan."
"Ah," Harper exhaled, nodding as if she had just proven a point he was waiting to make. "Eager. That’s good. But I do hope you’ll remember that experience is the greatest teacher. It’s easy to get caught up in grand ideals, but the reality of diplomacy is much less… idealistic."
Caitlyn kept her smile, but it tightened at the edges. "Good thing I don’t plan on getting caught up in anything but the work, then."
Harper let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying himself. "Of course. I have no doubt your mother will keep you on the right path."
Translation: Your mother is the real power here. You’re just the extension of it.
Caitlyn’s grip on her champagne glass tightened.
Then, over Harper’s shoulder, her mother caught her eye.
Cassandra stood near the grand fireplace, surrounded by her own circle of politicians, a glass of wine in her hand. She raised it slightly, a small, silent gesture.
A reminder.
Keep your composure.
Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, smoothing her expression before Harper could notice the crack in it.
"I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to discuss ideals and reality once I’m in office," she said smoothly. "I look forward to working with you, Senator."
Before he could respond, a firm but familiar hand landed on her arm.
"Caitlyn," Senator Grayson’s voice cut in, smooth and deliberate. "I need to steal you for a moment."
Harper turned to her with the same rehearsed grin, but Grayson barely acknowledged him, already guiding Caitlyn away with an ease that made it clear this wasn’t up for discussion.
Caitlyn let herself be led, biting back a smirk. "Timed that one perfectly."
Grayson hummed. "You looked like you were seconds away from throwing that drink in his face."
Caitlyn exhaled, finally letting some of the tension drop from her shoulders. "I was considering it. Would’ve been a shame to waste good champagne, though."
Grayson gave her a knowing look. "You’re getting better at it."
"At tolerating insufferable men?"
"At making them think you don’t mind tolerating them."
Caitlyn huffed. "That feels worse, somehow."
Grayson led her toward the quieter side of the room, where the crowd was thinner, the conversations less political and more about who was making the best investment deals next year.
"You’re doing fine," Grayson said. "But you don’t have to entertain all of them tonight. It’s Christmas Eve. Even politicians pretend to be human this time of year."
Caitlyn smirked. "That sounds fake, but okay."
Grayson sighed, but her eyes were warm. "Come on, kid. Let’s get you another drink before someone else tries to remind you that you’re too young for your own job."
Caitlyn didn’t argue.
She had survived the sharks for the night. That was enough.
For now.
DECEMBER 25TH, LANES FAMILY HOME, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
Vi barely had time to drop her bag before the front door swung open and chaos hit her at full force.
"Vi!"
She had exactly half a second to brace herself before Powder slammed into her, arms locking around her waist with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.
Vi let out a grunt, stumbling back a step but keeping her balance. "Jesus, Powder—"
"You’re actually here!" Powder squeezed tighter, her voice a mix of excitement and accusation. "You didn’t bail last minute! You didn’t get called back! You didn’t—"
"Yeah, yeah, I made it," Vi chuckled, hugging her back. "It’s a Christmas miracle."
Before Powder could respond, a second voice piped up from behind her.
"Damn, what about me? I don’t get a warm welcome too?"
Powder spun so fast she almost lost her footing. "Ekko!"
Ekko barely had time to open his arms before Powder launched herself at him next, wrapping her arms around his neck like a koala latching onto a tree.
"You dumbass, why didn’t you tell me you were coming too?"
Ekko staggered back, laughing as he caught her. "Thought I’d let Vi take all the hits first."
"You know me too well," Vi smirked, rubbing her ribs.
From inside the house, a booming laugh cut through the commotion.
"Let me get a look at you two."
Vander stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking exactly the same and somehow different all at once. The years had added a few more gray hairs, a little more weight to his stance, but his presence was still the same—steady, warm, something that had always felt like home.
Vi barely had time to take a step before he pulled her into a hug, arms strong, unshakable, grounding.
"Missed you, kid," Vander murmured.
Vi swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut for half a second. "Yeah. Missed you too, old man."
Vander held her there for just a second longer, then pulled back and clapped a heavy hand on Ekko’s shoulder.
"And you," Vander said, sizing him up with a knowing grin. "You got taller."
Ekko smirked. "Had to. Someone had to make up for Vi’s height deficit."
Vi scoffed, shoving him. "You’re a quarter inch taller than me, don’t start feeling yourself."
Claggor’s voice cut in from the living room. "More like a full inch."
Ekko pointed at him. "See? Claggor gets it."
Vi rolled her eyes but didn’t bother arguing.
The house smelled like cinnamon, frying oil, and warmth. Claggor and Mylo were already arguing about something from the couch, and Powder was still practically vibrating with excitement.
Laughter. Noise. The kind of chaos she had grown up with.
For the first time in a long time, Vi let herself breathe.
She was home.
"Alright, alright, enough standing around," Vander said, clapping his hands together. "Food’s ready. Get your asses in the kitchen before Mylo eats it all."
"Hey, what the hell?" Mylo called from the couch, throwing his arms up. "I have self-control."
"Do you?" Claggor muttered, already heading for the dining room.
Powder had barely let go of Ekko before she grabbed his sleeve again, dragging him toward the table like he might disappear if she didn’t physically keep him there. Vi followed, shaking her head, but the second she saw the food laid out across the table, she forgot about making fun of her sister.
There was everything.
A full roast, mashed potatoes dripping in butter, greens, rolls, gravy—real food, the kind she didn’t have to shovel down in five minutes before a mission or settle for cold because the mess hall ran out of propane again.
Vi sat down and immediately started loading up her plate like a woman who had just crawled out of the desert.
Ekko was no better, shoving an entire roll into his mouth before reaching for the mashed potatoes.
Powder blinked at them. "Oh my god. Did they not feed you in the Navy?"
Vi, already halfway through a bite, jabbed her fork toward Powder. "You don’t understand. You’ve never had military food. It’s all rubbery eggs and regret."
"Sometimes they throw in sawdust for variety," Ekko added, mouth full.
"You’re disgusting," Powder muttered, watching them in vague horror.
"You’re weak," Vi shot back, stuffing another bite into her mouth.
The room settled into comfortable chatter, the usual Christmas conversations rolling through—who made what, how much food they were all going to regret eating, whose turn it was to do dishes.
And then came the question Vi knew was coming.
"So," Vander said, leaning back in his chair. "How’s deployment been?"
Vi and Ekko both froze for half a second.
It was barely noticeable—just a pause before Vi reached for her drink and Ekko wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. But Vander noticed.
Vi smirked, glancing at Ekko. "That’s classified."
Ekko nodded, swallowing his bite. "Super classified. National security stuff. If we told you, we’d have to kill you."
Powder kicked Vi under the table. "You say that every time we ask, you know that?"
"Yeah, and you fall for it every time," Vi teased.
The table laughed, Powder muttering something under her breath about military assholes and their secrets. Mylo called Vi a government dog. Ekko threw a piece of bread at him.
But Vi could still feel Vander’s eyes on her.
Not prying. Not pushing.
Just watching. Knowing.
Because he had seen this before.
Vi didn’t hold his gaze for long.
She just went back to her food, back to the warmth, the normalcy, the quiet lie they told their family to keep them from knowing the things they didn’t need to know.
The apartment was too warm, the heat from the radiator battling the cold seeping in from the Brooklyn streets. Someone had cracked open a window, but it didn’t help—too many bodies, too much laughter, too much life packed into one tiny space.
It was perfect.
The living room was a mess of crumpled wrapping paper, empty plates stacked on the coffee table, and half-finished drinks sitting abandoned wherever someone had last set them down. Vi had claimed her usual spot on the couch, legs stretched out, a fresh beer dangling from her fingers as she watched Powder practically command the room.
"Alright, listen up," Powder announced from in front of the tree, hands on her hips. "Since Vi and Ekko finally decided to show up for Christmas like normal people, I am officially reinstating myself as the designated gift distributor."
Vi smirked. "Didn’t realize we needed permission to open presents, Pow."
"Yeah, well," Powder shot back, plucking a box from under the tree, "maybe if you were home more than once every three years, you’d remember how this works."
Ekko, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Claggor, snorted. "She’s got a point."
"Traitor," Vi muttered, but there was no heat behind it.
Powder ignored them, handing out the first wave of presents. The next few minutes were filled with the familiar chaos of wrapping paper being torn open, sarcastic remarks, and Mylo loudly accusing Claggor of getting the better gifts.
Vi just sat back, letting it all sink in.
It had been years since she’d been home for Christmas—real Christmas, not the half-assed celebrations in barracks where someone passed around a bottle of whiskey and called it a holiday.
Three years of eating in silence, of desert air and navy barracks, of falling asleep to the sound of distant gunfire instead of Powder’s endless chatter.
She swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. Not tonight.
Powder flopped down into his lap, completely unbothered, like she had done it a million times before—which she had. Ekko just wrapped an arm around her waist, absentmindedly playing with the drawstring of her hoodie.
Vi watched them for a second, then shook her head.
Weird.
Not that they were dating—that had stopped being news ages ago.
No, it was just weird to be home, to be back in this rhythm like she had never left.
The room was the same, but different. Same couch, new throw pillows. Same coffee table, now covered in scratches. Same bickering, same voices—but deeper now, a little older, a little rougher around the edges.
Three years.
Three years since she’d sat here, watching Powder distribute gifts like a chaotic little elf. Three years since she’d spent Christmas Eve in the same place as the people who raised her.
She swallowed down the thought, focusing back on the present.
"Vi, heads up!"
She barely had time to react before Powder chucked a wrapped box directly at her face. She caught it, barely, scowling. "Seriously?"
"Consider that payback for missing the last three Christmases," Powder said smugly, already moving on to the next victim.
"Could’ve just called me an asshole like a normal person," Vi muttered, shaking her head.
"Where’s the fun in that?"
The next few minutes were a blur of ripped wrapping paper, sarcastic remarks, and Mylo now loudly accusing Claggor of getting better gifts than him. Vander sat in his usual chair, drinking something dark and warm, watching it all with the same steady expression he always had.
It was loud. Messy. Chaotic.
It was home.
Eventually, the laughter settled, the wrapping paper crumpled into piles, the drinks refilled. Powder stayed curled up against Ekko, Claggor leaned back against the couch, Mylo half-asleep on the floor.
Vander let out a deep sigh, stretching. "Good to have the family all together again."
Vi glanced around the room, letting the moment settle deep in her ribs.
Yeah.
It was good.
Vi had just cracked open a second beer, halfway through a lazy conversation with Claggor about why Mylo should be permanently banned from touching the aux cord, when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
The name on the screen made her straighten instinctively, back snapping into something almost disciplined before she caught herself.
Commander Graves.
Vi frowned, pressing the cold glass of her beer against her knee as she quickly answered. "Lanes."
"Vi," Graves greeted. "Hope I’m not pulling you away from anything too important."
Vi glanced around the living room—Powder still curled in Ekko’s lap, Mylo throwing a wadded-up napkin at Claggor, Vander watching her over the rim of his glass.
She pushed herself up, already moving toward the fire escape. "Nah, just family stuff. Gimme a sec."
Ekko gave her a questioning look as she passed. Vi just shrugged, balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder as she pulled open the window.
Cold air hit her immediately, a sharp contrast to the thick, warm air inside. Vi stepped out onto the fire escape, leaning against the railing, her beer still in hand. The sounds of the city filled the quiet—distant sirens, the murmur of Brooklyn nightlife.
"Didn’t think I’d be getting a call from you on Christmas, sir," Vi said, watching her breath fog in the air.
Graves hummed. "Figured I’d check in on my favorite SEAL. How’s leave treating you?"
Vi snorted. "Like a vacation I don’t know what to do with."
"Sounds about right," Graves chuckled, then exhaled. "Look, I won’t take up too much of your time. Got an opportunity for you."
Vi took a sip of her beer, eyes narrowing slightly. "Yeah?"
"New administration always means movement," Graves continued. "People get shuffled around, positions open up. We’re looking at restructuring certain security details—high-level ones. I think you’d be a good fit."
Vi blinked. "Security details?"
"Secret Service," Graves clarified. "High-priority protection. President, Vice President, Secretary of State."
That made Vi pause.
She straightened, glancing back toward the window where the sound of laughter and warmth still filtered through.
Graves continued, filling the silence. "Ekko with you?"
Vi tilted her head back, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. You want him too?"
"If he’s interested."
Vi pulled the phone away from her ear, turning slightly. "Hey, little man!"
From inside, Ekko looked up, clearly confused. "What?"
Vi tilted the phone, motioning him over. "C’mon, you’re on speaker."
Ekko sighed but got up, carefully untangling himself from Powder, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before stepping out onto the fire escape. "This better be good, Vi."
She smirked, nudging him before putting the phone on speaker. "Alright, Commander, you got both of us."
Graves’ voice came through the small speaker, calm, measured. "Ekko, good to hear you. I was just telling Vi—we’ve got an opportunity. Secret Service placement. New administration, new security risks, means we need new blood. You two deserve the change in rank."
Ekko blinked, shifting his weight. "Huh. That’s… not what I expected to be hearing on Christmas."
Vi let out a slow breath, twirling her beer between her fingers. "Yeah, no shit."
"This isn’t an order," Graves continued. "Just an offer. You’ve both proven yourselves. This would be different—close protection, high stakes, but no deployments. Mostly stateside work. If you’re interested, I can get the paperwork started."
Ekko shot Vi a look, one she returned.
Because they both knew exactly what wasn’t being said.
No deployments meant no firefights in foreign deserts, no waiting for the next explosion, no watching another soldier bleed out on the ground.
But high-stakes protection meant politics. Babysitting. Standing around while people in power played their games.
Vi exhaled through her nose, shifting against the railing. "Gotta admit, Commander, wasn’t expecting Secret Service to be on my career path."
Graves chuckled. "Didn’t expect it for you either, Lanes. But here we are."
Vi glanced at Ekko again, raising a brow. He tilted his head slightly, considering.
"You don’t have to decide tonight," Graves added. "Take the next day or two. Talk it over. Let me know before the new year."
Ekko scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. Alright. We’ll think about it."
"Good," Graves said simply. "Enjoy the rest of your holiday."
The call ended.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the sound of the city filling the quiet, the distant hum of a siren somewhere down the block.
Finally, Ekko sighed, leaning against the railing beside her. "Secret Service, huh?"
Vi let out a low whistle. "Yeah. Didn’t have that one on my bingo card."
Ekko nudged her with his shoulder. "You thinking about it?"
Vi took a long sip of her beer, rolling the thought over. "Dunno. Feels weird."
Ekko smirked. "You? Playing bodyguard to some politician? Feels very weird."
Vi snorted. "I’d rather get shot at."
Ekko hummed, watching a car pass on the street below. "Yeah. But… no deployments."
Vi went quiet at that.
Because that part did mean something.
No more sand in her boots. No more sitting awake in the dark, waiting for the next order. No more coming home to see Powder a little older, a little different every time.
And Ekko was thinking it too. She could see it in the way his jaw ticked, in the way he didn’t look at her.
Three years of that life. They were both tired.
Vi sighed, pushing off the railing. "C’mon. Before Powder sends a search party."
Ekko chuckled, following her back inside. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t start trying on suits yet, Lanes."
Vi smirked. "Oh, don’t worry. I’m definitely getting custom-fitted."
Ekko groaned, already regretting everything.
And Vi wasn’t sure yet if she was saying yes.
But she was definitely thinking about it.
DECEMBER 31ST, KIRAMMAN ESTATE, CONNECTICUT
New Year’s Eve
The Kiramman estate had always been extravagant, but New Year’s Eve took it to another level.
The ballroom was a glittering maze of chandelier light, expensive champagne, and political maneuvering disguised as small talk. The guest list was a careful balance—senators, diplomats, CEOs, and just enough celebrities to make it seem like a party rather than a power play.
Caitlyn had mastered the game years ago.
She moved through the crowd with ease, drink in hand, offering polite smiles, shaking hands with people who didn’t actually care about her, making promises she had no intention of keeping.
But even she had limits.
And right now, she was about to hit one.
"Ah, Caitlyn Kiramman," came a voice that was too smooth, too practiced. "I was hoping I’d get a moment with you tonight."
She didn’t flinch, didn’t visibly react, but the second she turned and saw Senator Preston Halloway’s polished politician’s smile, she knew exactly where this was going.
Senator Halloway—former industrialist turned master manipulator. He had built his career on selling himself as a man of the people while making deals that crushed them. Defense contracts, energy monopolies, foreign partnerships that were just shady enough to be profitable.
And now, here he was, standing in front of her with a glass of bourbon in one hand and an agenda in the other.
Caitlyn smiled, practiced and polite. "Senator Halloway. I didn’t realize I was on your schedule tonight."
He laughed, rich and easy, the sound of a man who never heard the word no. "Oh, I make time for the right people," he said. "And you—you’re about to be in a very interesting position, aren’t you?"
Caitlyn took a slow sip of her drink. "Am I?"
"Come now," Halloway smirked. "We both know it’s only a matter of time before you’re officially named Secretary of State. No sense in pretending otherwise."
She tilted her head slightly, as if considering his words. She wasn’t. She already knew exactly what he wanted.
"You must be very confident in my mother’s administration," she said lightly.
"Of course," he replied smoothly. "A strong America needs strong leadership. I just hope you’ll be open to a little… guidance when the time comes."
Caitlyn hummed, watching him over the rim of her glass. "Guidance."
Halloway smiled, all polished charm and quiet arrogance. "Foreign policy is delicate. There’s a fine line between diplomacy and disruption. I imagine you’ll want to keep things running smoothly, rather than upend existing partnerships."
There it was.
Caitlyn smiled—just slightly, just enough for him to believe she was considering his words.
"I do appreciate efficiency," she admitted. "Though, of course, existing partnerships must also align with our country’s best interests."
Halloway’s smile didn’t falter, but she saw the flicker in his eyes.
"Naturally," he said, tone still smooth. "And our best interests, I believe, are in stability. In maintaining the relationships that have served us well. Disrupting that would be… unwise."
Caitlyn tapped her fingers against the stem of her glass. "Depends on who it’s been serving, doesn’t it?"
Halloway’s fingers tightened slightly around his drink. "Careful, Caitlyn. The world isn’t as simple as campaign slogans make it out to be."
"Of course not," she said, tilting her head slightly. "It’s far messier than that. But I do love a challenge."
She took another sip of champagne, watching as Halloway’s smile curled just a little tighter.
He had contracts. Foreign partnerships that were about to face real scrutiny. He wanted her on his side.
And now, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
There was a long pause.
Then, Halloway exhaled through his nose, smiling like they had just shared a private joke.
"I see," he murmured. "Well. It will certainly be interesting to see how things unfold."
Caitlyn raised her glass slightly. "I suppose it will be."
Before he could respond, a familiar voice cut in from behind her.
"There you are!"
Caitlyn barely had time to react before an arm slung around her shoulder, pulling her smoothly into an easy, familiar embrace.
Jayce Talis grinned down at her, his voice warm and just loud enough to disrupt the moment. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you."
Caitlyn didn’t miss a beat. "Have you?"
Jayce shot Halloway a perfectly polite, utterly dismissive smile. "Hope you don’t mind, Senator, but I need to steal Caitlyn for something incredibly important."
Halloway’s jaw ticked, but he recovered quickly, offering Jayce a tight-lipped smile. "Of course. It was a pleasure, Miss Kiramman."
Caitlyn gave him one last, polite smile. "Likewise, Senator."
As soon as Halloway turned away, Jayce leaned in just slightly, voice lower. "That guy gives me the creeps."
Caitlyn exhaled, letting her shoulders relax for the first time in ten minutes. "He should. He wants to keep his contracts untouched."
Jayce huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah? And what did you tell him?"
Caitlyn finally let herself smirk. "I let him figure it out on his own."
Jayce grinned, leading her toward the bar. "That’s my girl. Now, let’s get you a drink before someone else tries to mansplain foreign policy to you."
Caitlyn didn’t argue.
Jayce steered her toward the bar with an easy familiarity, weaving through the crowd like he belonged there—because, in a way, he did. He wasn’t a Kiramman, wasn’t born into this world of power and polished deception, but he had learned how to move through it just as well as she had.
Caitlyn took the fresh champagne flute he handed her, letting the cool glass settle in her fingers, grounding her. The tension from her conversation with Halloway was already fading, replaced with something lighter, easier.
"Alright," Jayce said, taking a sip of his own drink. "We celebrating anything in particular, or are we just drinking to drown out the sound of old men talking about ‘American values’ while lining their pockets?"
Caitlyn smirked. "Can’t it be both?"
Jayce clinked his glass against hers. "That’s why we get along."
Before Caitlyn could respond, a familiar voice cut in.
"If you two are done making fun of our nation’s finest, I’d like a drink as well."
Mel Medarda stepped up beside them, draping herself against the bar like she was meant to be there—because, of course, she was.
Jayce grinned, setting his drink down. "Mel, just in time! Caitlyn was about to tell me how proud she is of me for rescuing her."
Caitlyn took a slow sip of champagne. "I was about to tell you to let it go."
"Same thing," Jayce said breezily.
Mel smirked, watching them over the rim of her glass. "So. What did Halloway want?"
Caitlyn exhaled, tilting her head slightly. "What do they all want?"
Mel hummed, swirling her drink. "Power. Influence. A pretty young woman to nod along to their bullshit."
"Good news for him—I gave him none of the above."
Jayce grinned. "Played him like a fiddle."
Caitlyn shrugged. "He made it easy."
Mel clinked her glass against Caitlyn’s, approval clear in her sharp gaze. "Good. I’d hate to start the new year with a disappointment."
Jayce let out a mock-offended scoff. "You’re literally standing next to me, and you say that?"
"Yes."
"You wound me, Medarda."
Mel smirked, resting a hand on her hip. "You’ll survive."
Caitlyn watched them for a moment, their easy bickering, the way it felt like muscle memory. The three of them had been like this for years—sharp edges softened just enough, bound together by ambition and late-night conversations about the future.
And the future was coming fast.
Mel glanced toward the massive grand clock at the far wall. "Speaking of which—look alive, darlings. We’re three minutes to midnight."
The atmosphere in the ballroom shifted.
The hum of conversation lowered, anticipation rolling through the crowd like an incoming tide. Glasses were refilled. People turned toward the large digital countdown screen near the band.
Caitlyn adjusted her grip on her champagne flute. One month from now, her whole life was going to change.
Mel seemed to read her mind, tipping her glass slightly in Caitlyn’s direction. "You ready for it?"
Caitlyn exhaled, glancing down at the bubbles in her drink. "I’m as ready as I’ll ever be."
Jayce nudged her shoulder. "You’ll be fine."
And the thing was—she believed them.
The countdown began—ten seconds, then nine, then eight.
Jayce grinned. "Alright, who am I kissing? Volunteers?"
Mel rolled her eyes. "You’re a child. "
"You love me," Jayce said, shameless.
Caitlyn smirked. "We tolerate you."
Three. Two. One.
The room erupted in cheers, in laughter, in the chime of glasses clinking.
Jayce grabbed Mel’s hand and spun her in an overly dramatic twirl, making her actually laugh despite herself.
Mel caught Caitlyn’s eye and winked. "Happy New Year, future Madam Secretary."
Caitlyn huffed a laugh. "Not yet."
Mel smirked. "Close enough."
JANUARY 15TH, WASHINGTON, DC
The air on the tarmac was crisp, winter biting at the edges, but Caitlyn Kiramman barely felt it. She was home.
The Kiramman family had stepped off the jet like they belonged there—because they did. Cassandra, poised as ever, a picture of effortless power in a deep navy coat. Tobias, warm, composed, always the one to smooth the edges where needed. And Caitlyn, her heels clicking against the pavement as she slid on the sunglasses hanging from the lapel of her suit.
Ahead, a waiting motorcade. A fleet of black SUVs, polished and deliberate, Washington’s unofficial uniform.
Cassandra turned to Caitlyn, touching her arm in the kind of absentminded affection that spoke of years of practice. "I’ll see you later, darling. Tobias and I have a lunch engagement with Minister Vogel."
A German diplomat. Trade talks, no doubt. A power play before power had even officially shifted hands.
Caitlyn nodded, unsurprised. "Give him my regards."
Tobias, ever the steady presence, pulled her into a brief hug. "We’ll reconvene for dinner tonight. Don’t disappear into work just yet."
Caitlyn huffed a small laugh. "No promises."
She watched as they were ushered into their car, disappearing into the motorcade that was already in motion before her own driver had even stepped forward. Precision. Order. Control. Everything in Washington ran on it.
Caitlyn turned toward the hangar, where another car was waiting.
Two figures stood beside it—both in black suits, both unmistakably Secret Service.
She assessed them as she approached, her heels deliberate against the pavement.
The man was composed, neat, checking his watch with quiet efficiency. White dreads were tied back neatly, sunglasses obscuring his expression. Calm. Professional. Already familiar.
The woman beside him was the opposite.
Leaning against the SUV, hands tucked in her pockets, pink hair cropped neatly to her ears. A quiet kind of confidence, the kind that didn’t need straightened posture or unnecessary movement.
Caitlyn’s gaze flickered between them.
Ekko Wells. Violet Lanes.
Two of the newest additions to her security detail.
As Caitlyn approached, both agents moved in sync—not a second of hesitation, not a glance exchanged. Just a shift so automatic it might as well have been muscle memory.
Ekko straightened first—heels together, shoulders squared, his movements crisp in a way that spoke of years of training. The sunglasses obscured his eyes, but not his posture, not the careful attention to detail in the way he stood. Precise. Measured. A man who didn’t waste energy on anything unnecessary.
Vi was different.
The moment before, she’d been leaning against the SUV like she had all the time in the world. Now, she was upright, hands slipping out of her pockets, stance firm but not rigid. Relaxed in a way that suggested confidence, not carelessness.
Caitlyn absorbed everything, taking them in with a single glance as she adjusted her sunglasses. The chill in the air was sharp, cutting through the hangar’s open space, but she barely felt it. Control was second nature.
She knew who they were.
She had already read their files.
Ekko spoke first, his voice steady, respectful without being overly formal. “Miss Kiramman. Ekko Wells. It’s a pleasure.”
Vi followed a second later. “Vi Lanes.”
Caitlyn didn’t stop. Didn’t nod, didn’t slow. Didn’t give them anything.
She simply said, “I know.”
It wasn’t dismissive—just factual. A simple acknowledgment. She knew exactly who they were.
And then she was past them, heading toward the SUV.
Vi moved first this time, stepping ahead to pull open the door. Not rushed. Not performative. Just a smooth, practiced motion, her fingers barely making a sound against the handle.
Caitlyn slid inside without a word.
Vi shut the door behind her. The sound was soft but final.
The moment the door clicked shut, the sound muffled by the insulated interior, Caitlyn exhaled, pressing back into the seat.
The SUV was too warm, the heat cranked up to fight against the winter chill outside. The air smelled like leather and expensive car freshener, and beneath it all, the faintest trace of something metallic—the kind of sterile cleanness that came with government-issued vehicles.
The front doors opened almost simultaneously.
Ekko took the passenger seat, neat and efficient, barely making a sound as he buckled himself in. Vi slid into the driver’s seat, less polished, more fluid. She moved like someone who didn’t have to think about her body—like every step, every action, was just muscle memory.
Caitlyn caught the quick flicker of a glance exchanged between them before Ekko spoke. Professional, even-toned.
“Would you like us to take you to the hotel, Miss Kiramman?”
Caitlyn didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even blink.
“No,” she said, adjusting the cuff of her blazer. “I have no intention of staying in the hotel. Take me to my apartment.”
The silence lasted half a second too long.
Then—another glance between them.
Ekko turned slightly in his seat, looking back at her through his sunglasses. “Apartment?”
Caitlyn sighed, already feeling the weight of this conversation before it even began.
“Yes,” she said evenly, pulling off her sunglasses and setting them on the seat beside her. “My apartment. The one I purchased months ago. I’d like to go there now.”
Vi huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, but wasn’t.
“Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem,” she said, shifting in her seat as she adjusted the rearview mirror. “No one told us about an apartment.”
“That’s not my problem,” Caitlyn replied smoothly.
Ekko, ever the diplomat, turned slightly toward her, expression unreadable but voice calm.
“Miss Kiramman, your security detail was structured with the understanding that you would be staying at the hotel until we completed a security assessment of any potential residences,” he explained. “That means we have no intel on your apartment, no layouts, no information on the building’s access points, no—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Caitlyn interrupted, finality laced in every syllable.
She saw it, that flicker of something sharp in Vi’s expression.
“Yeah, see, it kinda will be,” Vi shot back, turning just enough to look at her in the rearview mirror.
The stare they exchanged was brief, but loaded.
Caitlyn squared her shoulders, exhaling slowly through her nose.
She was not in the mood for this.
She had spent the last sixteen hours in transit, listening to her mother talk strategy, enduring endless pleasantries with campaign staffers, and running through the same godforsaken talking points for every single news outlet already breathing down her neck. Now, finally, she was back in Washington, ready to step into the next phase of her life, and the last thing she wanted was to have this conversation with her newly assigned bodyguards.
Caitlyn arched a brow, her tone cool and unbothered.
“I understand your concerns,” she said, as if she were humoring them. “But I am not staying at the hotel. I have a fully secured penthouse in Georgetown that is more than suitable for my needs. There’s no reason to—”
“The reason is, we have no goddamn idea what the security risk is there,” Vi cut in, voice low and firm, but not raised.
Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed.
Ekko cleared his throat, trying—failing—to cut the tension before it could harden into something immovable.
“What Agent Lanes means is that we need time to run a full security assessment,” he said evenly. “It’s standard protocol. The hotel has already been vetted, cleared, and secured. We need at least twenty-four hours to ensure your apartment meets the necessary standards.”
“No,” Caitlyn said simply.
Ekko blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I won’t be staying in a hotel when I have a perfectly functional apartment,” Caitlyn replied, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on her slacks. “I don’t need twenty-four hours. I need you to take me home.”
Vi let out a slow, deep breath, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel once before turning fully in her seat.
For the first time since meeting her, Caitlyn got the full weight of Vi Lanes’ attention—head-on, no barriers, nothing in between them.
And it was different.
Different from the way politicians looked at her. Different from the polite, measured way most people spoke to her. There was no deference in Vi’s stare. No hesitation. No careful choice of words. Just blunt, unwavering certainty.
“We’re not taking you anywhere until we clear it,” Vi said, slow and deliberate. “You’re staying in the hotel.”
Caitlyn held her gaze.
“I’m not.”
Vi’s eyes flickered with something that wasn’t quite irritation, but wasn’t amusement either.
Ekko sighed softly through his nose, already resigning himself to whatever the hell this was turning into.
Vi tilted her head slightly, like she was taking a moment to reassess Caitlyn entirely.
Then, she exhaled sharply. “Alright,” she muttered, before turning back toward the road.
Caitlyn almost smirked. Almost.
“We’re going to the hotel,” Vi announced, shifting the SUV into gear.
Caitlyn’s brow twitched.
“Excuse me?”
Vi didn’t even look at her. “You heard me.”
Caitlyn sat up slightly. “That wasn’t a request.”
Vi tapped a button on the dashboard, the doors locking with a quiet but unmistakable click.
Caitlyn stilled.
Oh.
Oh, she did not like that.
Ekko, ever Switzerland, cleared his throat again. “Miss Kiramman, we can reassess the situation after a proper review of your apartment, but for now, we’re following standard security protocol.”
Caitlyn inhaled slowly, pressing her lips into a thin line.
She could fight this.
She could argue, could throw her weight around, could pull whatever rank she had—but there was something about Vi’s unwavering certainty that made her hesitate for half a second too long.
Caitlyn exhaled, slow and controlled.
Fine.
For now.
She folded her arms, her silence its own protest.
Vi smirked.
And the car pulled out of the hangar.
The ride to the hotel had been silent.
Caitlyn had kept her arms crossed, gaze fixed on the window as Washington blurred past. Ekko had texted twice—logistics, her luggage, ensuring everything was handled—and Vi had responded each time with a quick, clipped "Got it."
Now, as they pulled up to the entrance, Vi parked with effortless precision. She didn’t even have to look as she reversed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the gear shift like she could do this blindfolded.
Caitlyn hated to admit it—but it was impressive.
Not that she would say so.
Not that she had anything to say at all.
The second the car was in park, Vi stepped out first. The door clicked open for Caitlyn without a second of hesitation—not by a doorman, but by Vi herself.
Caitlyn didn’t thank her. Vi didn’t expect her to.
She stepped out, straightening her blazer as she took in the familiar view of The Hay-Adams. The hotel was grand, pristine, old money wrapped in modern luxury. A historic landmark that had hosted dignitaries, royalty, and now, her.
She should have been stepping into her apartment right now.
Instead, she was being shuffled into temporary housing like a foreign diplomat who hadn’t secured a long-term visa.
Ekko stayed behind at the curb, speaking with the hotel staff—making sure her luggage would be delivered, double-checking security clearances.
Vi trailed behind her by a few paces, not close enough to be intrusive, but not far enough to be forgotten.
Caitlyn could feel her there.
She could feel the weight of Vi’s gaze, the awareness in it.
Not personal. Just assessment. Surveillance. A job.
Somehow, that only annoyed her more.
The elevator ride was too quiet. The soft classical music playing overhead felt like a cruel joke. Caitlyn could hear every shift of fabric, every subtle adjustment in Vi’s stance.
When the doors opened, she stepped out first. Vi followed.
At the door to her suite, Caitlyn pulled out the keycard, but before she could swipe it, Vi reached past her—not touching, not intrusive, but unmistakably in control.
She opened the door herself.
Caitlyn walked in without a word.
The suite was exactly what she expected. Pristine, impersonal, the kind of elegance that felt more like a high-budget set piece than an actual home. Expensive furniture arranged in a way that no one ever actually sat in. The kind of place that looked good in a press release but felt like nothing.
She turned, ready to shut the door in Vi’s face—only to find the agent had already taken her place outside.
Standing at attention. Waiting.
That fucking smug look on her face.
Caitlyn wanted to wipe it off.
Vi nodded once. Professional. Too professional. "I’m here if you need anything," she said easily, like this was a perfectly normal interaction.
Caitlyn didn’t respond.
Didn’t give her the satisfaction.
Instead, she let the door click softly shut.
And then she was alone.
Alone in a sterile, soulless hotel room with a security detail she hadn’t asked for, stuck following protocols designed for people less capable than her.
She exhaled sharply, tugging off her blazer and tossing it onto the chair by the desk.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed, pressing her fingers to her temples, seething.
This was supposed to be a defining moment in her career. She was days away from becoming the third most powerful person in the executive branch.
And yet here she was—being bossed around by two Secret Service agents like she was some helpless socialite in need of hand-holding.
She had spent years studying, preparing, navigating diplomatic negotiations that most people couldn’t even comprehend.
She had helped design parts of this administration’s foreign policy.
She had argued with heads of state, debated trade agreements, built connections with diplomats who had been doing this job longer than she had been alive.
And yet.
She wasn’t trusted to go to her own damn apartment.
Cut her a fucking break.
Caitlyn inhaled sharply through her nose, staring at the ceiling.
This was temporary.
Tomorrow, they would assess her apartment. Tomorrow, she would take back control.
And tomorrow, she would figure out how to deal with Violet Lanes.
For now, she let herself seethe.
For now, she let her frustration settle in her ribs, heavy and hot and impossible to ignore.
Because if Vi thought she was going to win this standoff, she had another thing coming.