Except the marines didn’t want me.

“Hear me out, Karina. You know the feud going on between the mayor and that union boss, Jameson Crouch? They keep taking shots at each other in the press and somehow, Crouch seems to have inside information. Damaging information that is hurting the mayor’s approval rating, right before an election.” I wet my lips. “I started looking into his closest advisors and Deputy Mayor Alexander has some longstanding ties to Crouch. They went to the same high school, moved in the same crowds. So I started following Alexander and—”

“You did what?” Slowly, the managing editor sets down her sandwich. “You followed the deputy mayor?”

“Yes.”

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind, sandwich girl? Do you have any idea how politicians behave when their power is threatened? They can be downright dangerous when push comes to shove.” She swipes the napkin across her mouth and gears up to deliver what can only be a scathing lecture about safety—which I am prepared to accept—as long as she lets me pursue the story. But something stops her. Karina’s eyes fasten to a spot beyond my shoulder and widen considerably. “Who is that? Who are they?”

“Who?”

“They.” She gestures impatiently. “Those men.”

The bottom is already dropping out of my stomach when I turn around. There is no reason I should assume it’s the guys from the tram. We had a memorable encounter, sure, but to show up at my place of work the following day? That’s crazy. Right? Yes. Still, based on Karina’s reaction and some weird gut intuition…I somehow know who I’m going to see when I twist around in the chair. Maybe because seeing them again—and soon—felt inevitable.

There’s Gabe in his paint-splattered sweatshirt and jeans, holding a hard hat to his chest, looking woefully uncomfortable among the gawking staff writers.

Banks has already spotted me, his gaze cutting through the buzzing office and hitting me in the chest like an arrow strikes a bullseye. And obviously Tobias is leaning against the wall, grinning and wearing my missing badge around his neck.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, whipping back around, my face burning.

“You know them,” Karina says—a statement, not a question. There’s a reason she’s a managing editor. Her teeth were cut in the field of journalism as a White House correspondent. She can sniff out a lie from a hundred yards away. “How do you know them and what are they doing here? I already let you get away with the mole removal bullshit, so it better be the truth.”

“I…you’re my boss. I can’t tell you that truth.”

Karina throws up her hands. “Good God. I am not your boss. You report to the deli.”

I don’t receive that statement. “Do I, though?”

“Yes.”

“Technically, I work at the Gotham Times, though. See? I have a badge.”

“To get through security—” She cuts herself off, audibly grinding her teeth. “I already go to therapy twice a week. Don’t make me go a third time. Who are those men?”