Chapter 240: I’m Sorry, Max.
Becky and I walked back slowly through the emptying mission room, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder for balance. Agents filtered out around us in a quiet exodus—chairs scraping against the floor, murmured conversations fading into the hallway like dying echoes. The golden light from the windows had deepened into rich amber, casting long shadows across the tables.
Danny sat near the back, his face its usual unreadable stone mask. Max remained glued to his side, eyes tracking our every step with unrelenting focus. We reached Sherry.
"What are you two up to?" Sherry asked from her seat, a playful smile already dancing on her lips.
"Partner stuff," Becky replied, keeping her tone light and easy.
"Should I be worried?"
"Nah." Becky let out a soft laugh. "He’s just borrowed. But I’ll keep borrowing him." She glanced at me, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Isn’t that right, Bram?"
We all chuckled. I felt like a spectator in my own life, smiling on autopilot.
"How are you doing though?" Sherry asked, rising from her chair.
In my periphery, Max stood up. I didn’t look directly at him, but I tracked every movement as he crossed the room, tapped Becky’s shoulder without breaking stride, and kept walking.
"We need to go," he said flatly, disappearing through the door without so much as a glance at me or Sherry.
"Max," Sherry called after him.
He half-turned in the doorway. "Becky." Then he was gone.
"What is wrong with him?" Sherry asked, frustration tightening her voice.
Becky looked at her, hand still steady on my shoulder. "You know."
"I don’t," Sherry said.
Becky exhaled, suddenly tired. "Okay guys. I need to go." She limped out after him, the hitch in her step more pronounced now.
Sherry cursed quietly under her breath. "Max was always the steady one. He never lost it like this." She turned to me, eyes searching. "Do you think it’s about me?"
I cupped her face with both hands, thumbs gently brushing her cheeks. "That man is just going through something dark. It’s not about you."
"I need to talk to him," she said, already pulling away.
"Sherry—"
But she was already moving fast down the corridor, her footsteps sharp and urgent.
"Damn," I muttered, watching her disappear around the corner.
I understood her completely. She’d grown up with Max. Their history ran deep as bone. There was nothing I could do to stop her right now.
*Enhanced hearing.*
The system activated it instantly. I filtered out the noise layer by layer—the shuffle of departing agents, the low hum of the building’s ventilation, distant doors closing—narrowing my focus like a blade until I found them.
"What did you tell him?" Max’s voice was low, tight, barely controlled.
"Nothing," Becky answered. "I didn’t tell him anything."
"Rebecca." Max’s voice dropped further, a dangerous tremor running beneath the surface. "We’ve worked toward this for *years*. You know how much I love you. But if you dare—"
"I didn’t tell him anything," she repeated, firmer this time. "I’m still committed, Max."
"Really." Not doubting the words. Doubting the truth beneath them.
What the hell are you two planning?
"Max." Sherry’s voice cut in—she had reached them.
I started moving. Out of the room, into the corridor, slow and deliberate, close enough to hear everything, muscles coiled and ready if it turned ugly.
Footsteps shifted. Becky was giving them space.
"What?" Max snapped.
"What’s wrong with you?" Sherry demanded. "What happened to you?"
A short, bitter laugh escaped him. "What happened to me." A heavy pause stretched, thick with years of buried pain. "You’re asking what happened to me."
"Max." Sherry’s voice softened, pleading. "You know I’m still someone you can trust."
He laughed again—quieter this time, colder.
"You remember the first day we met?"
"Yes," Sherry answered. "I remember everything like it was yesterday."
I stopped in the hallway, just out of sight around the corner. They needed this moment. I had no business walking into it, yet I couldn’t make myself leave.
"I saw you struggling in a soldier’s hands," Max said, his voice low and raw. "I was young. No ability, no power—just a scared kid who’d slipped away from his mother’s watch. But I *knew* I had to do something."
"Max." Sherry’s voice had gone soft, close to breaking.
I stood motionless in the corridor, an unwilling witness to something sacred and painful.
"I saved you that day," Max continued. "In Goth. I fought anyone who stood against you after that. I made you safe. Gave you a home and a good life in a city where most people were just trying to survive another night."
"I know," Sherry whispered, her voice thick. "I know you did."
"But that’s not the Max I’m looking at now." Her words cracked. "You’ve changed."
He sighed heavily. I heard the rustle of fabric, something being pulled from beneath a shirt.
"You see this." Not a question. "Two faces on it. Ten years on my neck." A heavy pause. "Do you know why *your* face is on it?"
Sherry didn’t answer. She was crying—quiet, shuddering sobs that echoed down the empty corridor.
"Because I love you," Max said. His voice was completely steady now, the terrifying calm of a man who had carried an unbearable weight for years and had finally decided to lay it down. "That’s all I’ve ever asked for in return."
"I’m sorry, Max," Sherry choked out between sobs.
"Yeah." A small, exhausted laugh escaped him. "Then don’t ask why I’ve changed. A lot of things did that to me." Another long, painful pause. "And I’m still changing."
His footsteps moved away down the corridor—slow, deliberate, retreating into the distance.
Sherry was still crying somewhere just ahead, the sound raw and unguarded.
I switched off the enhanced hearing. The sudden return to normal silence felt deafening. The Donmans were running something in the shadows. Mute and Melissa Veyron carried secrets between them like loaded weapons. All of it could wait.
Right now there was only Sherry.