Present

I sat on Esmond's couch, a fresh cup of coffee in my hands as I sat awake at three in the morning. I had managed to sleep for about two hours, but the images of Jake, of what he turned into, haunted my nightmares. It was my fault, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I could only stop Queen before she did it to the world.

That was the other reason I was awake. I hadn't made any headway last night. The grief paralysed me so badly I couldn't even think after making the phone calls. That made the guilt worse. So now I was sitting with a cup of coffee in my hands, feeling nauseous from the guilt, staring down at the table that was covered in files and maps. I had to figure something out, and I had to do it soon so I could feel less like shit.

After taking a sip of coffee, I took a deep breath. I just felt like there was missing information. There was no way that Esmond was telling me the entire story—or maybe he just didn't know it all, either. Maybe Jacques would shed some light on it all when she arrives, but until then I had to do this on my own. I kept quiet as I stood up to walk, stretch my back and get some Nurofen to ease the pain.

Everything was going to be okay. We would work it out. We would put Queen away. I would avenge Jake's death.

I swallowed the Nurofen tablets and immediately grabbed some chocolate chip cookies from Esmond's pantry, biting one as I carried the jar out to the coffee table where I had my mess of papers. My doctors drilled into me to always eat food with ibuprofen, to avoid stomach issues in the future. I never complained, because it meant I had a valid reason to eat cookies at three in the morning.

Before I sat down again, I looked over at Esmond's jacket on the lounge. He'd left it there before he went to bed, where he was no doubt sleeping like a baby. I took a deep breath and pushed away the urge to go into his room and crawl into his warm bed with him, to curl up against his body and-

Hang on.

I walked over to his jacket, seeing the corner of a notebook poking out from his inside pocket. My fingers reached for it, pulling out the leather-bound journal. It was A6 size, but overly thick. I undid the tie and flipped through the pages, skim reading so I could understand what was happening without wasting time.

It was his records of Queen's case. The first pages weren't dated from when he got the case, but just two months before he inserted himself into my life. This must be his second journal on Queen. I kept flipping through, occasionally spotting sketches of important people and objects. Good sketches. Who knew that Esmond could draw? Not me.

I only froze on a page once I saw a portrait sketch. One of me. I touched it gently, studying it. I was relaxed, a small smile on my face as the sketch captured me from a three-quarter view. This wasn't something for the records, this wasn't an image that just showed what I looked like... he drew this because he wanted to, because he felt like it. I took a deep breath and started reading the page next to it.

It was about me.

About us.

About how once he learned who I truly was, not just as a file on his desk, that things changed. That he didn't just think that I was beautiful, but intelligent and magnetic. He thought I wasn't greedy for working for Queen, but that I had fallen in too deep.

I've realised that Max isn't the monster I made her out to be. She is a human being with feelings and emotions and pain and longing. It's difficult to admit that because it makes it that much harder to keep the facade. It makes it so much harder to keep acting. Because her heart is in what we have made together, and with her not holding anything back like I thought she would, I'm forgetting that we can never really be together. The op is getting into my head, and I'm losing touch with reality, and I've been thinking about how we could keep making this work after I tell her everything.

If she would even want me anymore.

I was holding back tears as I forced myself to flip the page. That entry... this journal wasn't just facts, it was his emotions. It was how he decompressed everything and kept a level head. I wasn't just holding a record; I was holding a piece of him. A vulnerable piece because he didn't lie in this journal.

I had crossed a line.

But if he wrote everything in here...

I kept reading and looking for something that could help. I ignored the other pages about me. I ignored the multiple pages about how he regretted locking me in jail and shattering the trust we had. I even ignored the pages summarising interactions with Jake.

I didn't ignore the pages about Jake's disappearance. I didn't ignore how Esmond wrote about their plan to send Jake into the Court in hope to gain information, like throwing a mouse into a lion's den. I couldn't ignore how Esmond wrote two goddamned sentences.

Jake hasn't contacted me in eight days. I don't know what happened, but there's nothing I can do for him now.

The hairs on the back of my neck raised, I was being watched. When I turned around, I saw him standing there, only in sleeping pants with a hand in his bed-messed hair. If this were any other time, I would push him back into that room again. Push him onto his mattress and take those damned pants off...

This time I threw the journal at his face, hoping he was too close to sleep to catch it.

Which, unfortunately, he wasn't. He caught the leather-bound notebook in his hands, and before he could say anything, I started shouting at him.

"You sent him in there!" I couldn't stop the tears from pouring down my cheeks, pointing my finger at him. "You sent Jake into the Court! Why the fuck would you feed him to the sharks like that?! You knew he would die! That she would kill him! I..." I didn't even know what else to say, because the look on Esmond's face was enough to know he beat himself up about it every minute since it happened.

"How much did you read?"

"Enough." I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "You lied to me. You said he went missing, not that you both decided it was a good idea to send him into the Court like the fucking idiots you are."

"I get it. You're angry at me-"

"Angry? I am fucking livid, Esmond. You're the reason he's dead. You sent Jake to the fucking gallows!"

Before we could argue more, the front door to the apartment opened. Jacques stood in the opening, holding her lock picking tools with her eyes flicking between me and Esmond. They finally settled on me.

"Did he tell you he sent Jake, or did you discover it through other means?" She asked, which meant she knew. Of course, she fucking knew. Someone on the inside would have had to get Jake in. Who better than the Mechanic? I uncrossed my arms as my hands started shaking.

"Max..." Esmond trailed off, ramping up for an apology I didn't want to hear right now. I shook my head and walked towards my room, not wanting to speak to either of them. Not while my blood was as hot as fire in my veins.

"No. I'm going to bed."