9:02 p.m. – Bruce Residence, Kitchen
Emily Bruce slammed the remote down on the table.
The broadcast had ended—cut mid-fight, mid-explosion, mid-what in the actual hell?!
The last thing she saw was Ryan's face, bloodied and smirking, right before the screen went black.
Behind her, Faith spilled juice on a coloring book.
"Mommy, is Daddy on TV again?"
Emily didn't answer.
Instead, she grabbed her purse, threw on a jacket, and calmly told her eight-year-old:
"Holly, sweetheart, you're in charge until Mrs. Beasley gets here. If anyone knocks, bite them."
"Even if they have cupcakes?" Holly asked.
"Especially if they have cupcakes."
9:20 p.m. – ONYX CORE Field HQ, New Orleans
Ryan sat in a medical chair, being patched up by a twitchy medic who kept muttering, "Yup, you're bleeding on the classified documents again."
The curtain parted.
Emily walked in.
Silence.
Everyone in the room froze. Even the vending machine paused its hum.
"Mrs. Bruce," the ONYX CORE tech stammered, "this is a secure—"
"I know what this is."
She walked up to Ryan, slowly, heels clicking like countdowns.
"You lied to me."
"Emily, I—"
She held up a finger. "Let's review: My husband is a spy. A spy, Ryan. You have a codename. A grappling hook. A flamethrower disguised as a balloon animal machine."
Ryan winced. "In my defense, that was very effective."
"You broke into the Federal Reserve. You chased villains through candy factories. You fought a maniac in a television studio wearing a mic pack and—AND—you used our child's field trip as a distraction?!"
Ryan stood up, still holding his side.
"Emily, I never wanted you to find out like this. But Larsen forced my hand. He's trying to use you to get to me."
"I figured that out around the time he circled my baby picture in red on national television!"
Silence again.
Finally, Emily walked up close. Inches from Ryan's face.
"You want to know the worst part?" she whispered.
Ryan braced himself.
"I still love you. But now I have to question if any of it was ever real."
Ryan looked at her. Honest. Raw. Vulnerable.
"It was always real. You, the girls... that's the only part of my life that's ever felt true."
Emily held his gaze. Then turned to walk away.
But stopped at the door.
"Oh—and by the way? Your little secret lair behind the garage? Not as hidden as you thought. Faith plays spy in it."
Ryan groaned.
"And you might want to check your newsroom tomorrow," he added. "We found surveillance bugs in your mug, your mousepad, and—don't be mad—your highlighter."
Emily didn't turn back.
She just said, "Fix this, Ryan. And when it's over... you owe me answers. All of them."
Then she was gone.
Meanwhile – Across Town
Larsen watched from a dark van, grinning.
"She knows," he muttered.
His henchman raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"
Larsen smiled wider.
"No. Now... it's personal for her, too."
[To be continued…]