Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 23

Hold Down The Fort.

Conner

The feed blinked to life in front of me. Two angles. One wide and distant, one intimate and telling. The first showed black trees swallowing the frame, the faint silhouette of her cabin just visible, isolated, shielded, defensible. Smart. The second was where my eyes landed and stayed. She was lying down, back turned to the camera at first, curled slightly toward the couch cushions like maybe she could pretend this was comfortable. But that thing was ancient, mustard green and sagging in the middle like it gave up supporting people sometime in the 90s. She shifted after a few minutes, restless, flipping over with a quiet huff like she was trying to find a better position. It looked impossible. That couch wasn’t made for sleeping, not really. It was the kind of thing you sat on during stakeouts or bad news. Temporary. Just like everything else around her. In the background, I spotted a small kitchen, barebones. No warmth. No homey clutter. Just the cold functionality of survival. A chipped kettle sat beside a few empty cups of noodles stacked beside the sink like a record of her meals this week. No plates. No signs of someone who intended to stay long. This wasn’t a home. It was a bunker. A war room. She adjusted again, legs pulled in closet, hoodie bunched at the neckline. Her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve, rubbing circles into the fabric, a quiet tell. She was trying to self- soothe. Stay grounded. And when her gaze flicked once, just once, toward the camera… I knew she remembered I was watching. She didn’t settle. Not just on the couch, but in life. There was no exhale in her body. No real rest. Like she was always one sound away from drawing a weapon and yet, she let me see this. Let me in. That mattered more than anything she’d said to me out loud. I leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes on the screen. She wasn’t the Ghost in this moment. She was just a woman, tired, alone, and still standing despite everything. Still watching. Still fighting.

“Sleep, Ghost,” I murmured into the comms, not even sure she was listening, but saying it anyway. “I’ve got you.”

I think she believed it. I hope she believed it.

Sage

the

I rolled again, shoving the scratchy pillow under my head like that might help, even though I knew it wouldn’t. The couch springs groaned beneath me, same way they always had, old, sunken, and crooked. I could see the tree-cam’s faint green glow blinking softly in the corner, steady and comforting. Behind me, the coffee table held an abandoned mug and two empty noodle cups. The kettle blinked “Ready.” I stared at the wall for a while. My body still. My mind… never. Eventually, I dozed. Only for a minute, long enough for the past to slip through the cracks of my defenses.

It was winter. Sharp, metallic cold. My hands were raw, my fingers too stiff to feel the blade I was holding. My legs ached from running drills all day, and Yakov’s voice still rang in my ears.

“You kill clean, Ghost. You kill fast. But if you hesitate…”

“I don’t hesitate.”

“Prove it.”

The room they’d dragged me into was dark except for one swinging bulb, low and yellow. There was a girl tied to the chair in front of me. Not much older than me. She looked like I used to, bone-thin, hungry-eyed, defiant only because no one had broken her yet. They told me she was a traitor. I knew better. She was bait. A test. Yakov wanted to see if I’d flinch. So I didn’t. I walked forward. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t hesitate. Her eyes never left mine. Even as I raised the blade. Even as she nodded. Like she understood. Like she forgave me. I woke up gasping.

My hoodie was damp with sweat, and the couch had tilted under me again. I blinked up at the ceiling, blinking hard. The past wasn’t gone. It never would be. But now… now there was a new screen beside the old ones. A new voice on the comms. A new man watching the world like it was something still worth saving. Conner. I sat up slowly and reached for my laptop. The feeds flickered to life, and the first thing I saw was his camera, him, already awake, already looking for danger. Already watching my back. I watched him through the monitor for a moment longer. He hadn’t noticed yet that I was online. He was too focused, checking angles, double-checking motion alerts I’d flagged the night before, rotating through camera feeds like someone who’d done this his whole life. But he hadn’t. I had. Still… he was learning and he was holding down the fort, just like I asked. My hand hovered over the mouse before I clicked into a secondary window and temporarily muted the feed. Just for a little while.

“I’ll give you an hour,” I muttered under my breath. Maybe two.

I cracked open the window above the sink to let the stale air out, then boiled the kettle again while I rifled through the cabinet for something more substantial than sodium-laced noodles. A half-eaten protein bar and a vacuum-sealed rice pouch would have to do. I ate while standing in the doorway of the bathroom, waiting for the ancient water heater to catch up with my needs. When the steam finally curled over the cracked tile and the pipes stopped groaning, I stripped down and stepped under the spray. It wasn’t luxury. But it was hot. And it was mine. For ten minutes, I didn’t check the cameras. Didn’t refresh alerts. I just let the heat work its way into my bones. When I emerged, towel-drying my hair, Conner’s feed was still calm. No alerts. No panic. The silence was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. I sat down at the desk, rolled my chair into place, and tapped into my secure network, isolating the file I’d been building for weeks. Names. Calls. Money trails. All circling the same question: Who put the hit out on us? Because it wasn’t just about him. It never had been. The same people watching him were also watching me. And I couldn’t afford to be blind. I typed fast, opening encrypted tabs, digging through offshore wire transfers and burner phone activity. The last known ping of a prepaid cell in London six days before the attack. A spike in account movement

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braced back to New York. Whoever they were, they had reach. But so did I let Conner hold the walls for now. Just a little longer, because someone tried to Stase us and I was going to erase them first.