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Wendy's POV

I folded my arms, still feeling his touch make my skin crawl.

“I... I'm sorry, Wendy.” he started, his voice quiet and full of regret that seemed to come too late. He looked down at the floor, his shoulders drooping. “I shouldn't have touched you. It was... wrong.”

I stayed quiet, his apology not healing the pain inside. I looked away, anywhere but at him, and my eyes fell on the papers on my coffee table. A fuzzy picture in one of the files caught my eye. It was a photo of me, or rather, a badly altered one, showing me talking to a tough-looking guy. He seemed like a mercenary, with his face partly hidden by a cap. But what stood out was the red circle around a blurry spot in his pocket, where a wallet or ID should be, even though it was hardly visible.

I pointed at the ……