Page 56 of Cold Mercy

After a minute, I can’t take the silence anymore.

“What are those boxes?”

She sets the mug down. Her voice is quiet and controlled, like she rehearsed this a hundred times.

“Everything I collected in the past two years. My notes, contacts, connections. If you want to finish this, use whatever you need. I don’t have any reason to continue.”

My stomach sinks, because, as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I'm starting to consider that Sterling might actually be telling the truth, because Mercer was clearly the kind of man who would crawl into bed with anyone if the price was right. A man driven by that much greed usually leaves a trail of enemies behind him that law enforcement hasn't even begun to map out. And the evidence last night wasn’t just convincing; it was absolute. And she knows too.

“Sophia… you still don’t know who killed him. Don’t you want—”

She cuts me off immediately, but her tone stays soft.

“No, I don’t want to know.” She turns her mug in her hands. “If his life was a lie… then my grief was a lie too. I spent two years mourning a ghost, Thomas. I loved a man who never existed. I poured everything I had into a void, and it almost killed me.”

I’m just like Noah. A man she thinks she knows, built on lies, hiding behind a version of myself that isn’t real. I want to tell her everything. But right now? It would be cruelty, a final blow she wouldn’t survive.

“I understand,” I say quietly.

She lifts her eyes to mine, and the vulnerability there shatters me.

“I’m empty, Thomas. There’s nothing left in me to give to a dead man. And I don’t have anything left to give to a living one, either.”

The implication hits me like a punch.

“Sophia,” I start, standing up. “You’re not empty, just hurting. That’s different.”

She shakes her head, a sad smile touching her lips.

“I’m heavy, Thomas. Can’t you feel it? I’m difficult. I’m broken in places that don’t heal right. I drag people down with me.”

She pauses, her voice trembling.

“You stayed last night. You held me. And God, I wanted to let myself believe it could be real. But look at us. You’re in this mess because of me. I am not someone you save, I’m someone you survive.”

I walk around the table to her. I want to kiss her until she stops talking like she’s a burden.

“You are not difficult,” I say fiercely. “I chose to be here. You may be broken and heavy. I don’t give a shit. I’m not asking for easy.”

She looks at me, and I see the tragedy in her eyes. She believes me, but she doesn’t trust herself.

“Maybe,” she whispers. “But I can’t let you choose this again. You don't deserve this.”

It hits me then what the real wall between us is. It isn’t Noah. It’s her belief that she is unlovable, and I can’t fix that. Not when I’m lying to her about who I am.

“Take my car.” Her voice cracks at the edges. “There's too much to carry. I won’t need it for a long time. When you’re done, return it to Mrs. Gonzalez. You have her number. I don’t have the strength for more games.”

She sets the mug down, and tears well instantly in her eyes. She turns toward the stairs, and I rise to go after her, but she looks over her shoulder first and stops me dead.

“Thomas… thank you. For last night… For everything.”

She takes a breath.

“I hope you find your father’s killer. I hope you find peace. You deserve it more than you think.”

My chest collapses in on itself.

For my entire life, people have looked at me and seen a tool, a weapon, or a threat. Even my own family saw a problem to be managed. No one ever looked at me and saw a man worthy of peace.